Okay, it’s the real st. Patricks day and I’m gonna drink my baby’s volume in green beer. It’s really gonna be swell. Actually, the other night I was bartending and these two girls walked in and asked if I was serving green beer and when I said ‘nope’ they left. WHO THE FUCK goes to a bar EXCLUSIVELY for miller lite with food coloring in it? Whatever. It’s not my job to talk people out of their stupid proclivities. Speaking of, a few of my friends were in town last night and I got to bust a rather nice hang, complete with being at a bar that I wasn’t working at, having a few beers, a late night burrito, all the simple pleasures that parenthood has robbed me of, and it was awesome. They did, however, in the course of the evening convince me that I HAD to go youtube this one band that they knew of. AND, I’m a little torn, because I really don’t want to advertise this band (because they stink) BUT it’s just the most horrifying dogshit I’ve ever seen and I want you all to know what I’m talking about.
Ah, fuck it. It’s not like this blog is O magazine or something…The band is called brokencyde (so clever, yeah?) and they’re like a crunk screamo thing…I’d think they have to be british, just because the whole thing is so fucking goofy but apparently they’re from New Mexico, which means they’re just a bunch of isolated weirdos who don’t have people around to tell them not to do stupid things. And stupid things is what they do, man. Fuuuuuck. It’s a dude singing through a vocoder and some other dude making these accent “I’m taking a brutal dump” sounds. I mean, at the risk of sounding like a grandpa, is this what the kids are listening to these days? Fucking seriously? I mean, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, music is none of my business, but THIS is the golden egg that I missed out on? You guys probably all know this band already, huh? I know, I’m out of touch. Anyway, if you don’t, look em up. I dare you. It’s seriously the audio equivalent of eating six bowls of clam chowder and six bowls of ice cream and then throwing it up and serving the clam/sugar barf together. It’s two ideas that don’t match very well mixed up and covered in stomach bile. Okay, that’s enough of that.
I just got a phone call where a dude called to ask me about our tour manager. As in, our TM is applying for a job and I’m the previous employer and they called to ask about his work ethic and shit. I mean, I’ve never felt like such a grown up as I do, typing this while my baby naps, taking calls about my employees and being completely flummoxed by the music that kids seem to be listening to.
You know what? I got work to do, so I’m done. Happy getting drunk, oh, and here’s an irish joke for you, just in case you’ve never heard it before:
What’s irish and hangs around outside?