The last three nights I’ve been out until eleven or twelve, practicing with my fake band and drinking beer. This is the only time that we can all get together and practice. For me, a daddy, this is late. I’ve also been having nightmares. I had a dream at around five forty five that I was laying in bed with my wife and it was about five forty five and there was a giant centipede on our bed crawling towards me. After that, I was pretty much up for the day. I want to just relax and hang out with my old lady because she’s going out of town this weekend, but I can’t, because by the time I get off work tonight my parents will have just gotten into town. SO, it’s not stopping. I’ve got the show on Saturday (THE FALCON!!!! WOOOO! LIVE! AT! REGGIES! IN! CHICAGO!) I think it’ll be cool. We’re gonna play a new song that’s called “spit shining shit” which I think is a pretty classy title. Come out. The next night is the busiest night of the year for drunk dickheads and I’m gonna be bartending. I love making jagerbombs ten at a time. Love it.
You know, back when I was constantly on the road, and I’m talking about before we made any money, back in the early days of the Lawrence Arms we used to live like bums. We never showered, we slept in our van or on floors and once every couple of days we’d buy a package of American cheese and a loaf of bread and we’d eat cheese sandwiches for a few days until that ran out. Once in New Jersey, we found a twenty pack of microwaveable bean and cheese burritos for five bucks, but usually it was cheese and bread. When we WOULD watch TV, it was always in a large group and the chances of it being something I was even remotely interested in were quite slim. I feel like it was mostly sportscenter and wild police chases and shit like that.
Usually, we would sit on barstools or on the floor, or in our van. Comfortable chairs and/or couches were rarities, mattresses even more so. And god, we smelled terrible. And it was fun, sure. We had a good time, but this isn’t one of those wistful memories of stinking and suffering and loving every minute of it, because well, for one thing, that’s kind of boring, for another thing, it kind of goes without saying that we liked it or we would have stopped…I mean, it was self imposed, you know? Nah, I’m just remembering the fantasy I used to have back then. I remember that on the days when I was the most homesick, or just sick of being on the road (because in those days I had no residence) I dreamed of taking a hot shower, stepping out with my skin still red and tight and wrapping myself in a fluffy robe, sitting on the couch, watching Conan Obrien (back then, he was still really funny), holding the remote control myself and getting a blowjob. That was the dream. That was EVERYTHING I wanted in the world. Clean skin, a comfy place to sit, control of the tv, something worth watching and of course, the beej.
I don’t know that this ever happened. In fact, I’m pretty sure it never did. I never owned a big, white fluffy robe. Sigh.
We went to the Modern Wing of the Art Institute yesterday and it was amazing. I have pictures of my baby in front of some of the greatest paintings and sculptures of the last hundred years. Super cool. I recommend it. The zoo was okay, but they were out of Polar Bears and Zebras by the time we got there. Lame.
I think I’m gonna end early and play some guitar before I head to work. Sock drawer, how you holdin’ up down there? Good. Uh…I dunno, get out there and live, or something.