Thursday, October 15, 2009

We only miss them all the time

Well, this morning I piloted a matte black el camino out to an abandoned suburb and stood in a freezing rivulet of water next to a drainage culvert for an hour while it rained on me. The temperature was just above freezing. I wore gym shorts and a tshirt. By nine thirty, my kid had already bitten enough other children that he had violated the terms of his probation and needed to be picked up. By eleven, it was raining so badly that all the audio equipment was threatening to break and so, a drenched pair of black socks and red converse later, here I am. Back home with my kid. The el camino is back with its family and my wife is back at work. My child is sleeping off his crime spree and I just ate some salmon out of a can. My houseguest of the last three months left this morning and I find myself, for the first time in a quarter of a year, alone at home. Pretty wild.
I’m tired. I practiced all night last night for our show at the metro. Shit’s exhausting. Compiling this setlist isn’t easy. You wouldn’t believe the crap you people want to hear. Honestly, it’s shameful. There. I said it.
Then, there’s the matter of the guest list. It never fails. No one we know buys tickets. Even when the tickets go on sale six fucking months in advance and I warn them “you know, the show is going to sell out.” They say, “oh, I know. It’s cool. I’m gonna get tickets soon.” But, what happens then? Nothing. Now it’s too late. There are no more tickets to be sold and everyone’s suddenly concerned. “Oh, are there still tickets? No? Oh…bummer. Man! I really wanted to go. Fuuuuuck….Could you, uh…maybe uh…?” Same fucking grift every time, man. Unreal.
As a rule, I keep my guestlist very small. Just the tightest friends and family. So does Chris. So does everyone we’ve ever had as crew. Neil, however is a monster. I’ve seen him literally go through his phone and call people he hasn’t talked to in ages and mention to their answering machines that if they happen to show up, he’ll have em on the list. At the end of all this, we’re overstuffed with guests, and hard choices need to be made. Who can’t come? Neil’s dentist’s daughter or Chris’s mom? It’s like the rising of the sun. It’s inevitable. It’ll happen this time too.
I finished up the t shirt designs yesterday. My good buddy (and frequent collaborator in living through crazy events) Sean Nader provided a key design and I think they’re awesome. I also think I’m gonna get this dude I know to hand screen a very limited number of posters featuring Sean’s design and sell those bastards too. Shit’s gonna be tight, yall.
Sigh.
Jesus. The problem with having a job, a baby who is trying desperately to get expelled from his daycare, a big show to prepare for, a movie to shoot, a Norwegian houseguest for three months, a wife and a dumb blog and three roving gangs of parents just stopping by willy nilly is that there’s no time to read anything. My brain has become dough. I’m retarded. I read the headlines on yahoo and an email here and there and then I look at whatever’s in the bathroom when I’m taking a dump. That’s the cerebral equivalent of consuming nothing but a few bites of candy bars and potato chip dust here and there for three months. You can’t produce anything worthwhile with that kind of fuel. I’m rereading Fear and Loathing right now, and it’s taken me two months or something. I read that for the first time in one sitting. Now THAT’S a little microcosm of my life for you. Everything that used to be easy and leisurely is now difficult, time consuming and only highlights how far I’ve fallen. But hey, that’s life, right? When you’re born, they hand you a bag to shit in. For a while, it’s great. Sure, you’ve got this bag of shit, but it’s cool. Everyone’s got it and it’s small and you can forget about it most of the time. Then one day you wake up and that bag of shit is enormous. It’s heavy. It’s exhausting you and the idea of carrying it around is so stinky and depressing that you think maybe you’d just rather stay in bed, but you can’t because if you do, that bag of shit is going to start leaking. And THEN my friend, you’re fucked. So what’s the option? I dunno. The bag of shit is ubiquitous. Everyone’s got it. Everyone’s got a bad back and stink arms from hauling their bag of shit around. Some people perfume it. Some people pretend it’s not there. Some people hide it, but man, make no mistake, if they’re breathing, that bag of shit is not far away. Now, I’m not saying that life is nothing more than being crushed under a mountain of shit. There’s more to it than that. But don’t kid yourself. That part’s in there too.
I want some goldfish.

16 comments:

Capt Murdock said...

Oh, are there still tickets? No? Oh…bummer. Man! I really wanted to go. Could you, uh…maybe uh… maybe get me in touch with Neil?

Jesus said...

So uh, since we,y'know read your blog and stuff, what's our uhhh chances for seeing some of this stuff over the net?

Just 'cuz. I'm sure all of the poor bastard group that isn't going to the show will be hopping and biting ankles to get that shit.

christa! said...

I've noticed most of life is just sort of pretending that you know what you're doing and hoping to hell that things actually work out. This seems to have worked for me so far but all my projects are starting to get in the way of sleeping or or eating or ummm living...I'm enjoying it, but man being a "responsible adult" on top of doing anything creative is fucking tiring!

laurabm said...

hotchickspickingupdogshit.com

there's a website for everything. i haven't browsed this one too much. could be lame.

Jayzilla said...

im doing some preliminary research on the metro and city of chicago -- whats the policy on "street beers"?

brown bag 'em i guess?

Sean said...

I GOT MY TICKET!!!!

flying home to Chicago from Miami, FL just for this shit!

it better be as "tits" as, say, oh i dunno...........

planespotting said...

What abandoned suburb were you in? Was it north, south or west (can't be east ... heh).

michael Park said...

Brendan, why won't you call me back???
-Mike Park

Nick said...

Mike Park?

Could it be THE Mike Park?

Scott said...

quite possibly the best way i have ever heard anyone describe exactly how I feel. One big sack of crap. I would have loved to have stayed in bed all day. It keeps happening, less and less motivation day in and day out to go to my job. Just little to no interest in doing my job.

best verification word ever "mingly" "I plan on going to the metro show and gettin mingly"

Buddy said...

I'm sure the last thing you want/need is a book rec..but "The Drunkard's Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives" is good shit..and fucking cheap on amazon!...good Brysonesque, thiking and readin on the shitter n such type book..

Candice said...

knowing how tight you keep your guest list, i am even more flattered that you put me on it last year in chicago. i'm sure it was more out of pity than anything else but i'll choose to believe it was because of love.

also, this sean guy worries me.

Nina said...

I decided yesterday to not go to my boyfriends show and see the arms instead. I'm fairly sure I did the right thing

Banana@1000MPH said...

Everyone else probably already knew this, but the iTunes only TLA song is that song about Tom Gabel's wedding.

PIXI said...

Being an adult is hard. I want to be a teenager again, before I had all this responsibility.
oh and I can't wait for the 10th anniversary show!

Kevin Burnett said...

oooo new candice shot!