So,I was kinda hoping I wasn't going to be around tonight because I had planned to go see a concert in "the Detroit metro area," but I was blown off so here I sit on my goddamn pointy ass. See, some "friends" are in town playing a gig (and I use the term "friends" loosely because A) you may remember that I have no friends, and 2) we were friends in more of a "circumstances forced us together" kind of way) and, being a cheapass, I emailed one of the guys and mentioned that, if they happened to have a free space on their guest list, I might just find a way to get off said pointy ass and pay them a visit.
And I'm not being that cheap, really, because the tickets are 30 fucking beans and, frankly, I wouldn't pay that much to see Radiohead, Bjork and Queen with Freddie Mercury, on a triple bill... so fuck off.
Anyshit, the dude emailed me back with his phone numbers and a "Give me a call and we'll set you up!" line, which I did, and, well... I'm sitting in my basement right now, so you do the fucking math.
Oh well, it would've been nice to see them again -- they're on kind of a nostalgia/comeback tour, and it's a big venue and it's always fun to hang out backstage and all. They're very nice fellows. I met them when my old band was out in LA, in the late 80s/early 90s, and we used to play shows with them every now and then. Then they started getting really "big" and we remained really "shitty," and we parted ways. The cool thing was, a year or so later, their drummer fucked up his hand during a tour and I got to sit in with them for about a month or so on the road. It was right when their album was getting pretty popular, and I was lucky enough to be playing in front of a few thousand people each night. It was an incredible experience. They even sent me my very own gold album after the tour to say, "What the shit?! Thanks, Crabbydad."
I dunno, I guess this all just stirs up the memories of that time in my life -- young, carefree, rockin' and/or rollin', living in a shithole of a one-bedroom apartment with three other dudes, sleeping in two sets of bunkbeds, crammed into a 6 x8 box of a room, eating ramen and Slim Jims, kissing the asses of dickhead industry fucks and playing gigs in crappy bars for five bucks and two pitchers of shit-ass beer.
You know, this basement's not looking too fucking shabby right now.
Ah, the guy probably didn't call me because he's busy touring around and he didn't have the time. Shit, I wouldn't call me... would you?! Fuck no. They're playing a gig next month in Grand Rapids... I'll give 'em one more chance.
After that, they're outta my will.