I'm Back!!!

Hello earth. I’ve been off in San Francisco for a while just kind of catching up on my vodka, cranberry juice, avocado, sushi and bagel intake all week and I’ve been playing some shows with some bands that I used to be in back in my more wiry and dynamic youth when I was the kind of person that thought that I could be in the best band in the world and that band could potentially have trumpets and shit in it.

The entire week ended up inadvertently being kind of a ‘this is your life’ situation for me in that pretty much every night was based on an era of my ‘career’ for lack of a better word, complete with different friends, different colleagues and different familiar strangers. The only night I didn’t play, I went and saw the Alkaline Trio, who are easily my closest friends that have gone on to achieve anything approaching real success in the world of rock and roll, the band that has introduced a lot of people to the various bands I’ve been a part of, and thus also as relevant to me as anything I was actually ever a part of.

Now, I don’t want to make this sound like I think this entire festival was somehow about me, because the shows I played and attended were just a small part of it, but as I’m sort of necessarily myopic, and playing out the eras of your life in daily hour long segments really feeds into that, uh, I dunno. It was weird. It was also one of the best weeks I’ve ever had, and I’d like to thank everyone involved, particularly the people in the bands I played in, the people who came out to see us and of course, Mike, Skylaar and all the AMR 15 crew that made everything run smoothly. No fatalities or drunken rum-slurpee fueled gangrapes were reported. That’s pretty good for a festival these days, folks.

It also bears mentioning that those of you Chicagoans that missed the party (or just don’t want it to stop just yet) can come check me out playing solo at Pancho’s on the 25th with Kevin Seconds. It’s gonna be a sweet jam, folks. Okay, enough of that shit.

I spent all yesterday traveling and it wound up being one of the most painless travel days I’ve ever experienced. That said, it still sucked the dick off a dog. Air travel sucks. Everything about it is a bummer except for the fact that you can wake up in San Francisco and fall asleep in Chicago on the same day. I hate the drive to the airport, I hate the check in, I hate the security line and the constant worry that shit’s just gonna stop, or that you’re gonna turn the corner and run into an impossible line. I hate the boarding process and the smell of planes. I hate the seats, I hate the tiny cups and the bullshit food, I hate the feeling of taking off and flying and landing. I hate the ride from the airport to where I’m trying to get and I hate the fact that when a trip is over that I wind up with a suitcase full of my wrinkled stinky clothes sitting on a chair in my house for a week.

Now, of course I love the speed and relative convenience of air travel too, but I disagree strongly with Louis CK (who I also suspect hates flying, despite what he says) who has a bit where he states that because we get to experience the miracle of human flight that we have no right to complain about any of the less savory aspects of the process. That’s complete horseshit as far as I’m concerned. Here’s why:

Air travel sucks, but pretty much everyone can remember when it didn’t. It’s not as though it HAS to suck (a relevant analogy here would be like sitting in a restaurant with your friends and complaining that the food is served a little cold. That’s fine. Now, if you’re sitting with a room full of say, Darfurian refugees, you may seem like an ungrateful dick by bitching about the relatively trivial disappointment in the face of abundance and ease, but if we take that back to the flying analogy, that’s like complaining about airport lines to Tom Joad or Meriwether Lewis and that’s clearly not what’s going on, so again, fuck this notion).

I’m not gonna get started on the whole United/American ‘too big to fail’ bullshit that still, a decade later makes me so fucking angry that I can’t see, but suffice it to say those two completely shitty airlines and their process of systematically fucking people out of every last bit of comfort and convenience has become the modern era’s new airline business model and it sucks.

There are profitable airlines everywhere that don’t charge for bags and drinks, that don’t screw you on ticket prices and that don’t oversell every flight and cancel every flight with an empty seat. There are also secure safety screens across the globe that don’t require me taking off my shoes and not having a bottle of water. The fact that TSA plays catch up in the wake of attempted (or successful) terrorist acts rather than trying to anticipate the next move is a topic that’s overdiscussed and that I’m not gonna really get into, but it should be noted that right now it’s easier to get a hard plastic boxcutter that’s in your pocket onto a flight than a sippy cup full of milk.

In fact, the ONLY thing I enjoy about flying is the airport bar. It’s an amazing place. It’s the one time on earth that there’s absolutely no reason not to have a drink. You’re in a fucking airport, first of all, so what the fuck else are you gonna do? Secondly, you’re about to be stuck sitting somewhere for at least an hour where you can’t really do anything and third, you’re guaranteed to sit next to a wild, hastily assembled and completely hilarious cast of weirdos from all over the world who want nothing more than to chill for a moment and talk intermittently with the old, asian bartender guy about what’s on the TV.

My friend Summer has never had a beer in an airport and I think that’s sad. That’s like only jacking off when you’re sweatily wasted and never having an orgasm or watching the opening bands and leaving before the band you want to see comes on. That’s like going to the zoo for the food and not watching the animals, it’s like giving birth to a little girl, raising her until she’s one, giving her away and then taking her back when she’s fourteen. It’s all the work without the part that’s awesome.

And that’s why, to conclude, if you don’t drink at the airport, the terrorists have won.

Don't you recognize your sam?

TGIM everyone. Welcome back to another installment in the endless series of soul crushing, mind numbing spirit snapping exercises designed to waste your precious few moments on this earth. I had a crappy night at work. I don’t even want to talk about it. I got a question from a guy who’s about to become a bartender and he wants to know some tips for being a great bartender. I have a few. These are real tips, not snarky jokes, so please treat them as gospel. Okay

Always acknowledge someone as soon as you see them. This sounds stupid, but nothing is more annoying than sitting at a bar, dying of thirst while some dildo bartender just goes on with their conversation or lime cutting or just standing there, staring blankly forward. You can get a lot of mileage out of “hey man, I’ll be with you in a minute.” For real.

Charge your friends for drinks. You don’t have to give them the nine dollar jack and coke that your bar wants you to charge, but make ‘em reach into their wallets a couple of times. That way, they’ll remember that they have to tip you something. And come on, you’re the one pouring them shots and getting them drunk. It’s reasonable to expect a little return. Conversely, if you’re a friend of a bartender and you’re drinking all night or whatever and they aren’t really charging you, what’s a good tip? If you’ve had a full night of drinking, and it’s been almost free, you should be putting down at least a twenty. If that’s too expensive, buy a sixer and stay home.

Let people drink as much as they want as long as they’re nice, and not bugging everyone else. Oh, so what. He’s wasted, big deal. That’s what whiskey does. Don’t cut people off when they’re drunk. Who cares if they’re talking loud, or slurring? If they pass out, well, they can’t drink anymore anyway. Pull ‘em out onto the sidewalk. Conversely, if someone’s bugging your other customers, or telling you to fuck yourself or anything like that, kick their asses out right away, drunk or not. Being drunk shouldn’t be the crime in a bar, being an asshole should.

Uh, don’t get so drunk that you fuck up the money- Obvious one right? You get a lot of leeway as a bartender, don’t fuck it up by messing with the bottom line. You know who suffers for that? You, and your fellow bartenders and your friends and everyone. So keep your shit together when you work. Fuck, it’s a job, after all. Save getting wasted for after work, or when your friend is bartending and you’re on the other side of the bar.

That’s everything. You’re all now master bartenders. Congratulations. That’s actually the entirety of a bartender college curriculum. Little secret, there’s no such thing as a fuzzy navel or a midori sour, it’s just shit that the bartending college cabal made up to get your tuition money. Now, get out there and get me drunk!
I want to make a list about drugs. I don’t know if I’m blowing my wad by doing this on a Monday, but I think it will be fun. Here’s a guide to drugs by Brendan Kelly

Alcohol-
This shit is dangerous, kids. One minute you’re laughing about something funny that happened at the baroque choral performance over a glass of chardonnay, and the next you’re waking up in a random lawn with bloody knuckles, a sticky dick and no jacket. If you’ve ever had one too many cocktails, you’ve got some sort of embarrassing memory that will forever make you cringe and make a little noise every time you think of it. Be careful. Oh, and it makes you horny, or at least dumb enough to think fucking him/her/it is a good idea, so watch your dicks and pussies when you’re boozing. That’s where babies come from, son.

Weed-
You smoke it, and it either makes you zone out completely or makes your mind race like crazy. I’m in the second camp. I can’t smoke weed because it makes me panic. Whatever, this isn’t about me. Weed is like the nerf ball of drugs. Yeah, it’s illegal, and yeah, it gets you fucked up, but if your grandma found it, she’d be like “stewart, is this your weed? I wish you wouldn’t do that stuff” and then give it back to you. If it’s not wigging out your grandma, it’s not much of a drug, Side effects of weed include being a shirtless dickweed like matthew Mcconahay and saying dumb shit about the celestial vortex and shit like that.

Mushrooms/ acid
You know when you have those moments of clarity; when you look in the mirror and go “holy shit! I’ve gotten fat” or you’re replaying some old conversation and you realize “man, I’m a selfish dickhead”? Now imagine being stuck in that moment for seven hours. That’s these. You better like yourself, starchild, cuz you’ll be spending lots of time in your brain.

Ecstasy- So, the night you’re on E, your entire body feels like an orgasm, and everything is a ten. Everyone is good looking. The room is beautifully designed. The dog is SO good. The beach boys are CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED! Oh, man! It’s just swell, guys! The next day, your entire body feels like a violated asshole, and you’re more depressed than you’ve ever, ever been. This lasts for three days. Wheee!

Cocaine
You know your one friend who’s kind of yellow and he’s always covered with a thin sheen of sweat? He shits a lot and he’s always cracking inappropriate jokes and he’s super happy one second and then something just sets him off? He’s on coke. What a cool drug. Jeez.

Meth
Like coke guy, but either gay or toothless. This is the drug that you do when you think just letting rats nibble your dick off is too boring and casual of a way to destroy yourself. Well, actually, that’s exactly the kind of thing that happens to people who are fucked up on meth. This shit is scary. Who wants to be high for four straight days? Ugh…no thank you. Word to the wise, for whatever reason, if you’re in a gay bar, and someone offers you coke, it’s at least got a forty percent chance of being meth. This also holds true in a roadhouse. I don’t know what it is about this drug that attracts the two ends of the personal appearance spectrum, but if you’re doing meth, you’re either a beautiful gay dude, or some creep covered in sores that lurks around the dumpsters at the Wendy’s.

Herion-
It’s one of those things, right? You’re either gonna do heroin or not. I don’t think people get into heroin with a “hey, I’ll just casually party with some heroin here and there” kind of attitude. People kind of have an idea of what the lifestyle of a junkie is. Shitting explosively every six days, not eating, sleeping, drool, totally out there music. The cool thing about heroin is that one in every three users wakes up at the end of a big bender with model-quality good looks. It’s true.

Poop
There are kids in aftrica who get high off of poop. They shit and piss in a jar and then put a balloon over the top of the jar and leave it in the sun. The gas from the shit/pee mix fills up the balloon after a while and then you inhale it. Apparently it makes you hallucinate and really, really, really trip out. Huh. Kind of makes you feel like an entitled prick for complaining about your friend’s crappy weed the other day, huh?

I’m going to the post office. Drugs are bad everyone. Xo.