December 23, 2003
bang bang misprint crescendo
gonna go out there and just be a youthful motherfucker.
No school for a week or something, go me. I'm out of free burrito coupons I got from doing the film fest, I guess I shouldn't have given so many away, but the joy of giving them away is better than being the motherfucker who doesn't give at all and eats lots of burritos, although I often doubt what could be any better than eating lots of burritos. But it's there, it's cool, is it too early for a reflection on the year, I mean it's almost the end of the year, damnit, there's nothing ‘almost’ about it, it is the end of the year, and what a year it was. Of course, the most important aspect of the year is the shows; I posted what I thought were my top 10 shows of the year already on the 9:30 club message board, it wasn't in any real order, but the first one of the list (the only placed at the top for any real significance) was the last pg.99 show, I could write for days about that show, I'm planning on using it for a dramatic 'moment I can never forget' essay for NYU, i hope some hipster reviews it, gets me in and such. But that was a kick ass show, a carthatic event on several levels, but the show itself was flawless (minus a short majority rule set and my pants getting ripped up to my knee) shit was out of control and still so in check within the beautiful chaos. Other good shows: Darkest Hour/Maj. Rule/Mannequin/Out Circuit at GW, one of the many shows where I was mistaken for being Fat James, as in "Hey man, you Fat James?" or "WHOA! you're Grundlebum?". The night of may 9th that was Boy Sets Fire/Hope Conspiracy early show at 9:30 then Shakedowns at Black Cat, Pietasters/Shakedowns at Black Cat with Sam & Janet all full of Meyers, Steel Pulse/Jah Works and the ride in Nick's van. Albeit recent, the Darkest Hour/Good Clean Fun/Age of Ruin show was a fucking blast. The Locust were kind of let down live but awesome drums and skinny fucking hipsters, gave Paige a blondie shirt that night. Melt Banana at Black Cat was cool, that was during my expresso phase of the summer, Saul came and Lindsay even showed up which was a surprise. The two adventures to the Ottobar in Baltimore were good times, the drive with Saul, hitting up Reptillian Records, getting to the ottobar too early for them to let us in, hanging out a facist lesbian diner only to find out Cephalic Carnage was arrested for pocession and couldn't play, Mastodon was cool, bought a shirt and returned it the same night, apparently I thought I had too many black shirts. The other trip out to the Ottobar with Sklover via $7 worth of public transportation was quite a fucking adventure, fifteen block walk through the urban industrial shit hole that is Baltimore. Got a ride home from the Excelone kids, in their fucking M-class, blasting the Locus Factor on laptop of car stereo with its high resolution screen and all. Seeing Solomon Burke with Sam and Curtis, spending $100+ on I guess food and tickets, it was a soulful evening. Skipping the 'Real Inspector Hound' cast party to see the Toasters alone may have been a mistake, but I had a good time, but that same night I missed the Age of Ruin/ A life once lost show at the Chicken Bone, which would have been pretty cool, I regret not going to the Crestfallen/Acedia/Mannequin show at the Chicken Bone house too, spent that night babysitting/in an outdoor hot tub in January listening to Thelonious Monk. Going to Ft. Reno after work, a fine commonplace for the kids, tapping toes, getting hugs, passing out fliers for film festival submissions. All the Fort Reno shows were fun, Q and Not U being the stand out performance for me; I wasn't patient enough to stay in the rain for all of Dismemberment Plan, which I regret, but at least I can say I was there (but didn't see them), rather I went to Black Cat to see Cave In, and had the pleasure of seeing Paint It Black, a band whose album 'CVA' I would get for free from work later that summer, shit grew on me, was listening to that today. The Wilson Players Winter One Acts were a great time, although my play practices weren't orgies like other plays, but then again mine was funny unlike others. The more I played the character of Raymond Oates, I found myself learning lessons from Lichman, intentional or not I was taking notes, well not really, but it was a good time, still haven't gotten laid, lost my hawaiin shirts, I got a Great Guiness Toast shirt I never wear, but then again I'm not really a guiness kind of guy. But One Acts were kind of landmark, I felt bitchin' with a sort-of leading role, speaking lines a friend wrote, kind of getting laughs for them, 'Raw Milk' was a great time, is a hillarious movie, like it's not some shitty high school film for the kicks of seeing ourselves on the screen, like I think it could be compared like the Teen Idles who went to Wilson twenty years ago (some of whom were motherfucking Players) recorded their own punk rock music, put it out on their own label, not that I'm comparing Cocaine In Motion to Dischord Records but let's just say there's a difference between Cocaine in Motion and let's say Brent's Life Sucks or well Spaceship::Vehicle. Sam's got his shit covered, I feel damn good to work with them, smart kids, hope some of it rubs off on me. 'Raw Milk' was a new testament to Cocaine In Motion, was a new notch for the Players’ standard, the quotes will hopefully live on the player’s room, especially the massive ‘Free cookies, hot poon’. That Players/Bohemian circuit sure throw down some good parties, ones where we could rock the dub for a good time until some dude brings the proverbial bootleg go-go CD-R which is untouchable. I spent many parties standing in front of the sound system with the dub CD in one hand with the other hand in front contemplating the angle of attack, weighing my options ala Indiana Jones trying to steal that satchel of diamonds or whatever from the pillar and at the same trying to put a bag of equal weight (in this is case the Dub CD replacing the go-go CD), never happened, though. So it was to hip DC go-go soundtrack that a girl managed to steal JRussell’s first kiss, kind of sucked on my part, got distracted by a painting of a budhist, got too caught up in my own ‘success’. I was wearing my Fort Reno shirt for that memory, it had spaghetti sauce stains on it, it’s the same shirt I was wearing during last Friday’s kiss fest. It all links together somehow. Over the summer a weathered middle aged man cam in to the store wearing a leather cowboy hat, a Hawaiian shirt, crudely cut off cargo shorts and doc martins. He had sleeves of tattoos that had aged poorly. I was wearing my Ft. Reno shirt, he looks at me from the punk section and says “I’m afraid to say it but” he unbuttons his Hawaiian shirt revealing the same Fort Reno shirt “but I got the same shirt”. I figured he was a wise old hipster with stories about Bad Brains and Henry Rollins when he was henry Garfield, turns out that this brotha was older than my dad, went to Ft. Reno before ‘punk’ existed. Turns outs he not only went to Wilson, but also Deal and Janney, just like me. I told him of the coincidence and he said “I’m sorry”.
So it was supposed to be a year in reflection or something, supposed to be nostalgic, just mentioning nuggets of memories from the last year is supposed to be something. How bout the Log jam sessions in Saul's basement, being the youngin at the Barn, highlight from the barn being my hot ass broiled nachos, the treks through the snow up to the AU libary to work on a paper in a class that I was going to fail anyway. My dilemma of ‘prom dinner’ or Majority Rule CD release show, went to Lebanese Taverna with five girls, got ‘Emergency Numbers’ two weeks later than everyone else, big deal. Got to be hardcore when I went to see Majority Rule at St. Al’s church instead of the homecoming dance, and got to be high school loner when I walked from Foggy Botttom to the hotel party with the cool kids in their ‘one night a year’ nice outfits and their belts of condoms, got to be hero when I took the kids to George’s King of Falafel’. Slept at Jamie’s that night, spent a couple a nights at Jamie’s hut over the summer, during his summer good times white kids fest, complete suburban package with one kid chilling in the pool before everyone else (me) then the chance-taking girls come in the pool, hell awaits, then the good looking fellas come in the pool, scare me out spending the rest the party with a wet ass, watching Family Guy one those nights on the plasma screen TV was out of control, most visceral laughs in a while. Is there anything I’m missing, any corned beef hash stuck to the grill I can scrape off, the problem with scraping is that extraneous grease that you pick up with the scraping process. Oh cool shit, the day I got hired for the job at the record exchange was the same day I met John Henry from Darkest Hour, and Stew got him to buy beer for him, turns out he knows a lot a bout beer, he being the bike messenger/hardcore singer with a straightedge tattoo on his leg and a glass pint of beer in the other hand. That was cool, got the job at CD/Game exchange. So I feel like I fused in to that well, the store with the bosses, co workers, even some of the asshole weirdo regulars. Trying to give a conscious recollection, there were some cool spices in this shapeless omelet that was this year, like these 1,700 words mean that much, yeah, so this was the year I pretended I could write, the year I’d binge on bottled water, piss it all and pretend I’m not as fat as am, grow my hair in my face and tell myself I’m cool. So maybe this is funeral for the year, it’s dead and now I have to bury it. The year is dead, it’s not like I could shake it’s hand, not like I could get drunk with it, tell it a joke, wake up the year the next morning. The year is done, so what’s left? These shitty memories that are so important to me because I didn’t really start all this fun youthful “going out and living” routine til recently. But I did get a bunch records, CDs, shirts, ticket stubs, my face in the newspaper, an apparently visible increase in confidence, definitely a greater appreciation for a wider variety of things and people. I mean, sure a bunch of things didn’t go my way, I didn’t start driving the way I had planned, I didn’t lose the weight the way I wanted to, I never really went to work and got drunk at Ft. Reno with a herum hip girls with their nose rings, nalgenes and new balalnces. I didn’t find a bar in Mexico that was a constant insane blood for blood style brawl, nor did I see as many topless euro skanks as expected at the beach. The youth hostels I slept at on my Thirsty & Miserable tour of New England with my dad weren’t nearly as youthful as I thought they would be, I really shouldn’t have listened to the smiths so much during that tour, but fuck it, I biked the paths of Nantucket listening to Hendrix while my black surplus Swedish army backpack bled black dye on to the shoulders of my Black Flag shirt. I’m so disappointed that I couldn’t get fucked up with a European girl and you know get in her pants or go to a Mexican bar and have a bottle smashed on my head. Didn’t loose weight, didn’t loose virginity, didn’t loose any teeth.
What was this year? Slurpees and nosebleeds? Was hair in the eyes and lonely nights asking ‘Why?’. Was the just a big deep breath before I say “you’re my bro, let me punch in the face”? Was it realizing that I’m too heavy to stage dive but realizing that I’m scene enough to try. Was the year just a chalk board to create phrases that would sound epic if I were respectable. Is that countertop napkin wisdom of the obvious, risk all and you may have chance, let the good times happen to you, will dies hard, MC5 is good, Bobby I don’t know but what’s ever it is its got to be funky. This fucking cigarbox with a small sharp nails to slash knuckles and ask for the cure, to organize the pictures chronologically, make a collage of my ‘life’ on my floor one night, then put them back in order. The theme should be progress, but ignore the cause, be responsible, soon I can’t be tried as a minor, but I’ll be legal . A banner of the proverbial you & i.
Progress and confidence = a cell phone?
Unlearning and mixtapes.
Vintage t-shirts and delusions.
Soul and vomit.
Shit & failure.
Overdoing it
Getting it done.
Getting dome?
Home.
