those dreaded wednesdays and saturdays

I’m suffering brain drain. I’ve had a smokers cough type situation for about three weeks, which is odd because I don’t smoke. I’m tired. The last two nights have been more or less like this: asleep around eleven (already too late) up at three until four with a baby (really just lying there while my wife feeds her and then getting up to change her) and then up again at five when the kid in the other room starts knocking and yelling to be let out. This shit’s new, and requires some serious early morning daddying. You wouldn’t believe what’s on Nick Jr. at that ungodly time.

Around seven thirty my wife gets up and I go back to bed until about ten. Around ten, this coughing bullshit starts. I can’t think. I’ve got a big conference call this afternoon and I work tonight. The IRS is hassling me. Boning now occupies the same space in my existence as playing on a Slip n Slide in that it’s something I recall that I used to enjoy, but that I don’t really see myself partaking in this summer (thank you very much, unflinching, stalinesque post-birth ob/gyn rules).

Um, what else? I dunno…there’s probably a ton of shit to write about in this space that isn’t just me complaining but, not to belabor the point, I am suffering a brain drain. It’s all grandparents and little kids knocking on doors and suddenly I’m out at a bar until 2 for the first time in years and I’m thinking “wow, I could, in theory be enjoying this job if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve got to wake up with that dude knocking on the door in three hours” and on and on like this. Well, that’s life, kids. First they take your sleep, then they take your party, then they harass you until you’re afraid. Then they put out a dancing with the stars that you can get behind and relate to, then you die.

Apparently the people that drive the rickshaws outside my new job don’t like me. Yeah, rickshaws- the mode of transportation that the ancient Chinese got exactly right. Only, these ones aren’t powered by running slaves, these are hipsters on giant tricycles who apparently don’t like being charged for their drinks when they drink at the bar I work at, and begin to cry when I hand them their bill, despite the fact that it’s my first day and I’m standing there with the owner and only a FUCKING MORON would discount a bunch of people he doesn’t even know on his first day at a new job while standing next to an owner who’s told him not to be just giving shit away. Well, end result? The rickshaw kids seem to think I’m trying to come in and lay down a bold new set of laws in which they’re forced to pay for their shots of Dead Guy Shisky (really?) and dumb beers. I’m like the Eliot Ness of the highly sensitive rickshaw set, I guess.

Oh well. I guess if I want to get anywhere in the six block radius from my bar, I’ll have to walk, which sucks, because if you ignore the fact that walking is free and about the same speed as riding on a dumb rickshaw with a drunk girl pedaling, well, the rickshaw’s a pretty good way to check out wrigleyville, that I’m gonna be missing out on, I guess. Jesus.

I work with this guy. His name’s david and he’s young and he’s got dynamic hair and face piercings and he’s good looking and a really, really nice kid. He’s gonna be doing the punk rock Tuesdays with me over there (which will be sort of opening soft tonight, I guess…come down to the Risque café on clark and Sheffield for cheap beer specials, good food and punk rock music straight out of my ipod [unless that dj dude is gonna be there. I think he’s got a local punk radio show and last time I caught a bit of his set he was playing good stuff {d4 and Dead to Me and Misfits and HWM and shit like that} so that’ll be cool too]) and he’s (remember, we’re talking about the kid I work with now) got some crazy musical tastes that I can only sum up as being um…generationally different than mine.

Have you guys ever heard of a band called ‘a day to remember’ or something like that? Ha! They’re pretty much just metal breakdowns with a more pussified tom delonge singing over it. I guess it’s cool. I mean, no. Okay, let’s discuss this just a bit: it’s not cool at all, but I see why someone would like it, I guess.

On paper, it’s kind of just taking New Found Glory to their logical conclusion, right? Pop and metal riffs. Done.

Now, NFG is hardly the coolest band of all time or anything, but they’re not worth getting all worked up about. I mean, personally, I like dudes who dress like they’re sixteen when they’re older than me. It’s funny. It worked for Fat mike. It’s working for New Found Glory too. I mean, who am I to deny a bunch of old men the right to wear huge shorts and bounce around like they still honestly think those little mid nineties hiccup-style stops in slick pop-punk songs are cool? I’m nobody. Those guys aren’t working at bars or writing blogs, man. They know what’s up. Now who looks ridiculous?

Anyway, this band with the metal and the dumb so-cal vocals, it makes no sense to me. I feel like a grandpa when this guy I work with puts on his music. It just sounds um, really, really wack to me. Since when does metal all sound like it’s being played with actual metal instruments? Since when do pop punk bands do crunchy hardcore chromatic breakdowns? I’ll stick to my VHS tapes and old timey songs about not taking too many showers, thank you very much.

Now, listen up, I’m all for innovation, but mark my words folks, this shit ain’t gonna age well. In ten years ‘a day to remember’ will be known as ‘a day at the county fair devoted to woefully out of touch musical styles from a decade ago.’ Hey, maybe I’ll be working at that county fair. Want a funnel cake?

Hey, what do I know? Stewart Copeland said the same thing about green day.

See you turds tonight. There will be no nu-emo. Promise.