Beaten Up

Lately, I've been getting beaten up about my past relationships a lot. It just seems that my love life has been a constant source of conversation among people around me, regardless of the fact that I've really been trying to steer away from the topic. I know they mean best and I don't mind when my closest friends, who know who they are (and most of them read this blog from time to time), bring up the fact that they don't like how I'm being treated, that I'm being led-on and used, etc., etc., because it shows they care and I love them for it. But it gets a little depressing sometimes.

Anyways, one of these said relationships recently ended for a really trivial reason but one that bothered me so much that it drove me crazy. Now, this woman was great otherwise. But she committed two deadly sins. First, she once changed my radio station to a New Country station and started singing along to Garth Brooks or Brooks and Dunn or whatever. Then, she used the phrase "Get 'Er Done" during multiple conversations between us and some of my friends as a punchline, no sarcasm, no nothing. "Oh, that guy's just so funny." I remember instantly catching the "eye contact signal of horror" from one of my buddies and returned it earnestly with the "I thought I knew this woman but now am utterly shocked and mortified" eyebrow arch/wide eyed combo. Things fell apart fairly quickly after that.

Hearing this, my female friends said, "See, M. This is your problem. You have these arbitrary rules mostly based on pop culture and other trivial BS and once they've been broken, you never go back. This is why your relationships fail." My guy buddies' instantaneous reply: "Perfectly Reasonable." I mean, come on, "Get 'Er Done"? That phrase should come with naked lady mudflaps and a confederate flag sticker. I've told them that I threw out the rules a long time ago (against my better judgment I might add), but some things just can't be unsaid.

But this is a two way street. For instance, the key to my heart has always been clever nicknames. I not only live to give them but I like receiving them as well. (...) If a little thought is put into it or it's bizarre or even just strange, I love it. Besides, if a woman ever called me "Tiger," I'd be hers until she was done with me.

Washington City Paper Cover Story: The Drone Ranger

If anybody ever wants to know the crazy bullshit that I deal with at work constantly, this article touches on them all. It's the perfect indictment of the modern workplace.

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/cover/2005/cover0826.html

Just for the record, I got a bit on an inspiration today, so I might not disappear like I threatened earlier. If I get some time tonight, I'll write it out (since it's already composed in my head) and post it up here tomorrow. Let's just say Iggy Pop is involved.

Does she write you $12 checks?

Lately, this blog has begun to feel like shouting down a well. I'm probably going to be taking a break for a while. Nobody leaves comments anymore and it just seems a bit pointless. Well... I like doing this, so I'm probably just not going to post so much. I'm just going to post things that I really have time to work on and that I like, so there probably won't be much coming up here since at the moment, I am completely blocked. However, for those in the know, I am currently putting together a team of mustached Scientologists with aviator sunglasses to shoot the photo essay. If you want in on the zoological fun, give me a call. It should appear here sometime soon, like within the next month or so at the latest.


One last bit of advice, everybody should go see 40 Year-Old Virgin. It's absolutely hilarious.

RETURN THE SUIT - Return Gus Grissom's Mercury Space Suit Back to his Memorial Museum

You might have read about this girl in the papers. She's collecting signatures in order to petition the goverment to return Astronaut Gus Grissom's spacesuit to his museum, established by his family after his death in 1967. Click the title of this entry to check out her website and sign the petition!

Work

Start work today:



Ending work today:

Blood Drive Day

Today is the Red Cross' "Blood Drive Day" here at work. Since arriving about 15 minutes ago, I've already gotten two "Are you giving blood? Why not?" comments. I don't even bother to explain because I personally feel that those willing to question another's ability to give blood would never understand my answer.

I basically grew up in UVa Hospital's Children's Ward. From the age of 2-9 years old, I had a series of nine operations to repair a birth defect which pretty much erased my right ear. Cartilage was removed from my right uppermost rib to form an earlobe (leaving the infamous "knife fight scar") while skin from my neck and hips was grafted over top or used to form an ear canal and ear drum (which later proved useless when a CAT scan revealed that my auditory nerve was severed.) I was one of the first children to have this type of reconstructive surgery. Oddly enough, while attending UVa, I worked in the med school library and ended up giving lectures to future doctors about the importance of bed-side manner while attending children. I also learned that I had somewhat dubious fame, as slides of my operations were still in use in the Plastic Surgery department.

During my month to two month stay per operation and the biweekly follow-up visits afterwards, I would constantly be submitted to blood tests. If you saw me as a child, you'd probably think I was a heroin addict due to the tract marks on my arms, the scars of some remaining to this day. However, I was also intensely afraid of needles and fought to the teeth to avoid them at all costs, both from blood tests and IV units, which I was notorious for ripping out. Many times my mom or dad would have to help the nurses restrain me. I would then promptly faint, causing even more problems, especially with bruising. Years later, while taking Accutane at age 16, I was again required to take blood tests, five in total, and while I no longer fought tooth and nail, I only managed consciousness through one of these. To this day, even the smell of blood makes me queasy but I've learned to deal with it in a variety of ways to avoid a fainting spell. However, I do not actively pursue the use of these techniques.

So, if you care to ask why I do not give blood to the Red Cross today, this is why. People usually get the story about my sister and her frying pan, but that can be saved for another time.

My Launchcast Station

I love my Yahoo Launchcast station. This is the track listing from the past hour or so I've been listening:
Grandaddy "Stray Dog and the Chocolate Shake" (Great song from a great album.)
The Pixies "Monkey Gone to Heaven" (one of my favorites...)
The Minutemen "King of the Hill" (easily my favorite Mike Watt bass line)
The Who "Bargain"
AC/DC "The Jack" (What? An AC/DC song about easy women with a double entendre title? Never!)
Ted Leo & The Pharmacists "Me and Mia"
Smashing Pumpkins "Thirty-Three"
Pavement "Loretta's Scars" (I hadn't heard it in so long, I forget how much I love this song.)
Iron & Wine "Teeth in the Grass"
From Bubblegum to Sky "The Gurls & Shoo Be Doo Wop" (An aptly named band)
Lynyrd Skynyrd "Gimme Three Steps" (not my favorite Lyrnyrd song.)
The Police "Omegaman"
Elliott Smith "Oh Well, Okay" (of course...)
Guided by Voices "Non-Absorbing"
Le Tigre "Seconds" (If it's not Decepticon, then I don't like them.)
Sonic Youth "Chapel Hill" (I saw them play this live at Cat's Cradle in Chapel Hill when I was 16. It was amazing.)
Earlimart "All They Ever Do is Talk" (amen, brother.)

Welcome to Danville!

Speaker says a mentor led him from gay lifestyle

I think too often we dismiss the sheer ignorance that exists. "Nobody could honestly believe that!" Well, here's the sad truth that they do. Of course, it doesn't help when the town newspaper covers it as well.

I've tried for years to explain how crazy the fundamentalists in Danville can be. Here it is, guys! Just remember, not everybody in Danville thinks this way.

Hostage Negotiations

I've been absent-mindedly playing with a short length of copper wire at my desk this morning. It measures approximately 2 9/16" in length and 1/8" in diameter. While obstensibly sheathed in gray plastics, there is also a second clear plastic sheath on top of the gray. "ANT 11 OR AWM NW-1" is printed on the top layer of the sheathing. The wire bends quite well, providing a decent amount of resistance yet only regains its original shape with some difficulty, usually requiring the straight back of my stapler as a guide. Using the sharp metal edge of my ruler, I strip away 1/2" of the first layer of plastic to expose the gray layer underneath. I'm suprised to find that this second layer is not plastic, but indeed some type of rubber/vinyl. It will be sent to the lab later for further analysis, but my educated guess is nylon. Using the sharp edge of my fingernail clippers, I strip away the gray rubber/vinyl to expose a magical world of unicorns and castles lying beneath. Damn you, Scientologists. Foiled again.

The End...?

The 9:30 Club Ticketing

Decemberist tickets for Sunday, Oct. 2nd on sale today. Be there or be square. (Click above for the link to buy.)

ARGGGGG! I really want to leave work now! Where's my clone when I need him?

(To get that joke, go down to July 1st, 2005.)

Breaker 1-9 for a Radio Check?

My work day has spread out before me like the never ending fields of the Great Plains. Arriving late to work today due to an hour and half of what I like to call "extra sleep," I've got another 3 hours or so before I finally get to leave the office, shouting a little "I'm free!" while skipping across the front door threshold.

On days like today, stuck inside while the most glorious of days passes by outside, I like to think about what life would be like had I chosen another, radically different career. Today, there's a huge green GCI delivery semi-truck parked across the street. What would my life be like as a truck driver?

At the age of 3, my dad read "Big Joe's Trailer Truck" to me every night before I fell asleep. I often imagined myself hauling all sorts of stuff, from GI Joe action figures to fireworks (hey, I was a kid), around the country in my sturdy Mack truck, a big buckle on my belt and a big, well-worn truck stop baseball cap, with the mesh in the back. Around age 9, my cousin Wormie (Yep, Wormie) told my dad the coolest sentence I'd heard yet: "I'm earnin' my bread on the red-eye, hair-pinnin' lumber from Boone to Peach City." Later on, my cousin Randy, Wormie's brother, actually became an indenpendently-contracted truck driver, despite having a degree in civil engineering. I asked him once why he chose to drive a truck for a couple of years instead of jumping into his chosen profession. His reply: "There's just something about the road, Lil' Max."*

Nothing's better than cruising the highways with a good mix CD. Whenever my friends hit the road, I always make sure they're armed with a good mix of songs, both old and new, but always with a flair of '70s rock. I'd bet that I've probably made around 200 mixes since I left Danville for college. This past summer, I drove 8 hours straight from DC to Jonesville, Va. Hitting the mountains at high speed, I leaned out the window, feeling the cool wind in my then-long hair, while "Flirtin' with Disaster" blasted out of my stereo. There's a special joy that comes when you realize you've got the entire road to yourself for as far as the eye can see.

In my imaginary life as a trucker, I know no barbers. I'm the Last American Cowboy and my beard grows long and wiry while my hair creeps down from my "Purolator" baseball cap to drape across my shoulders. My truck would have an American flag in the grill and naked lady mudflaps. I could say things like "Watermelon 500," "Wiggle Wagons," or "Double Nickel" in everyday conversation. I'd get me a hound dog named Buddy, and we'd drive across the country together, always on the lookout for the coppers and wild women named after flowers, stopping to fish in creeks and rivers with my trusty Ronco Pocket Fisherman. I'd be a Truck Stop Casanova with the CB handle "Rolfe Diamond." I'd play my Dirty Old Man Card 50 years too early. Buddy and I'd listen to nothing but '70s Arena Rock and Old Country, like Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings or this guy:



There's something about the road, indeed.

For more information on becoming a trucker, check out:

American Trucker
"Diary of a Trucker" from the Kansas City Star
Truck Drivin' School Locator
The locator's great b/c they actually sell mesh hats on the same page. Awesome.

*I'm referred to in my family as Lil' Max, since I was named after my dad and am the youngest member of my generation, as was my dad before me.

WOAI: San Antonio News - White crosses at site of anti-war demonstration run down by pickup

WOAI: San Antonio News - White crosses at site of anti-war demonstration run down by pickup

*Updated (plus I took down a bit b/c my friend was really hurt about the character flaw comment and he's entitled to his opinion just as much as me, even though I was pretty angry when I wrote it.)*

What kind of bullshit is this? I don't even know what to say. Utter outrage.

This woman, Cindy Sheehan, has almost singlehandedly started, or at least rejuvenated, the anti-war movement in America. She's been mercilessly slandered in the media lately, with news of her divorce and possible tax evasion charges. And now some crazy redneck drove his pickup truck through her memorial to her dead son.

Yep, crazy redneck. Here's his picture:



Let's hope that orange he's wearing is a prison uniform. Plus, he's from Waco, TX, and I think we all know how stable those people are. Between natives David Kouresh and Shannon Elizabeth, I'm surprised the town continues to stand.

Here's a picture so we know we're not alone:



(an AP photo from the 2005 Inauguration Protest. Just a note, my friend and I are standing behind the big green sign. In probably not my finest moment, I flipped the bird to the President of the United States. That I will not take back, my friend.)

Action-packed

This past weekend was pretty action-packed. Friday night, I had a small part in booking the band Pawns from Brooklyn at Velvet Lounge. They did a great job and brought out a huge crowd. Even I was surprised! Apparently, there was a little trouble between the drummer and the door guy after I left, but I think we've all agreed just to blame it on the (considerable) heat.

Saturday night got out of control, which started out with a visit from my new buddy, the cat I wrote about in last week's "Weekend Thoughts." I've named him Chalmers and my neighbors and I have decided that if we all see him one more time, I'm going to adopt him, since he seems attached to me for some weird reason. Anyways, I like having him around, even though I've always been a dog person. Here's some pictures:



Chalmers owns the Saturday night porch.



"Wha'chu want, sucka?"



Action Kitty



"Maaaan, you lazy, Chalmers."

Other happenings from Saturday night:

I went over to Galaxy Hut to catch Telograph's big show with The Hint. They were both great. I hadn't seen that kind of energy from Telograph in a long time. It helped that the place was packed, even though I'd put the temperature, indoors with the AC on, at about 90 degrees. My girls, Ember and Sue Ann, came out and we had a great time, drinking too much, acting crazy, telling stupid jokes, etc. It was just like old times. The estranged stalker even showed up, meaning that everyone was all winks and arched eyebrows. Luckily, she got drunk and got down with some random dude, so the rest of were "off the hook." I can't stress enough how much every member of the Hint looks like they should be best friends with Marc Bolan from T.Rex, even their van is a '73. I also managed to catch the end of Seed Is' first set at Whitlow's on Wilson. Their brand of hiphop, heavily influenced by gospel, always makes me smile. Hopefully they'll start playing more shows up here.

Just one note to guys. When you're acting like a drunken jackass at a bar, don't try to manhandle my friends.* You step out of line and I'm going to step in. However, it was nice to be called a hero even if it was because some drunk guy, whose friends probably ditched in a gutter after he puked all over himself, decided to get a little touchy feely.

Sunday was lazy. Despite a pretty wicked hangover, I was up early to teach and run errands in Georgetown. I'm going to take my camera next time as the N Street rowhouses have some of the most interesting architecture I've ever seen. After the lessons, I hung out with my old buddy John and his new old lady, Perry. Like I said, it was lazy. We sat around and ate and laughed and told stupid stories about John yelling things out of car windows until we were all about to pass out from exhaustion. Sure, I got absolutely nothing done, but it was a lazy day, much like the lazy cat above, and much like the end of this blog entry.


* Don't refer to your fists by name when threatening somebody, even if it is in your own head. It's hard for you to keep a straight face and is no time to be making silly Anchorman jokes.

Monday Morning Commute Soundtrack

Man, I had an action-packed weekend! I also have this afternoon off as I'm finally getting my cable-modem reinstalled so no more internet-less weekends.

Here's my Monday Morning Commute Playlist:

1. "5-4=Unity" Pavement
2. "Big Heartbreak" The Rosebuds (everybody should listen to them.)
3. "Stop Breathin" Pavement
4. "The Good That Won't Come Out" Rilo Kiley
5. "Bonita Applebaum" A Tribe Called Quest
6. "A Summer Wasting" Belle & Sebastian
7. "So Long" Rilo Kiley
8. "Invisible Man" The Breeders
9. "In the Wilderness" Mercury Rev
10. "The Piano Has Been Drinking" Tom Waits
11. "Travelin' Band" Creedance Clearwater Revival (again, the perfect "must drive fast to survive song."
12. "Huddle Formation" The Go! Team

From WBEZ in Chicago | This American Life

From WBEZ in Chicago | This American Life

There was a time when I kept track of time at work by the number of This American Life radio stories I'd listened to so far. After 3 stories, I knew it was about time for lunch. After another 5, time to go home. Everybody should listen to at least a few of these stories. Each week, Ira Glass and friends tackle a new topic, exploring a new concept or idea through very different methods, from entirely new angles. Some of my favorites include "Notes from Camp" (only because it reminds me of my summers at Camp Cherrio), "Music Lessons," "Americans in Paris" and "Secret Government." "A Very Special Sedaris Christmas" from 1997 is by far the best Christmas episode, but "The House on Loon Lake" left me completely captivated. It's probably the best thing I've ever heard on the radio. Start with the Our Favorites link and work from there!

Have a great weekend!

New Weekend Thoughts

My weekend thoughts from this morning was pretty sloppy, so I figure I'd clean it up a bit. Today I'm having a "Reinhold Messner" kind of day. For those who don't know, Reinhold Messner was an Italian chap who became the first man to climb Mt. Everest alone and without oxygen tanks. (Tenzing Norgay need not apply.)

Anyways, Friday night was fairly uneventful. I had nothing planned and figured I'd just putt around the apartment, playing the songs in my newly crafted Max's Huge Book of Stolen Songs, 2nd Edition. It's filled with guitar tabs of songs by David Bowie, Belle & Sebastian, T. Rex, Velvet Underground, Bobby Dylan, and more. I figure by learning to play these songs, I'll not only become a great guitar player at long last, but will fuse them all together to become the greatest rock troubadour in all the world.

Joining me in my laziness was a very curious calico cat. I spied him watching me while I was porch-sitting, and then later caught him as he hunted me through the high grass. Eventually my little friend bolted out of the stairs, did the little static electricity rub that cats love, and then settled next me, his head on my right love handle, just hanging out. I reached over and scratched him behind the ears, which I don't think was very appreciated so I let him be. Five minutes later when I got up, I looked over for him and he had completely disappeared. It seriously freaked me out. Back inside the house, eventually I got bored and walked over to The Grog & Tankard, scouting out a band to fill a slot at Velvet Lounge on Aug. 24th. (However, let this be a lesson to said band. I left them my phone number and the show details, but they never called until Monday morning, after I had filled the slot with another band who fit the bill better.)

Saturday was Clean the Apartment Day. After scrubbing the kitchen for a couple hours, I moved onto the bathroom. It is now completely clean.............(Sorry, we had to wait a second for the cheering from every female friend I have to die down.) After that, my new friend Richard came over, and we recorded some chord progressions on the always amazing Hammond Piper II. Here's a good pic so you get a sense of how great it truly is:



Later in the night, we went to see my guys, The Guins, at Staccato Lounge. The previous three bands were all jam bands or cover bands so it was somewhat lame. Not that I hate jam bands, but they really do need to figure out a way to keep their songs from getting too stale. One band played a song for 25 minutes. 25 minutes! It was maddening, not even Miles Davis would play a song that long, not because he couldn't but because he knew he shouldn't. Maybe these bands should get a group of people to dance right in front of the stage, and then end the song when they realize that nobody's dancing anymore? Oh yeah, they had that. Too bad I don't have pictures though. The dancing was hilarious and included me falling off of a bar stool onto a 6'4" woman, who then asked me to sign the band's mailing list. I think I've already addressed this topic. (Hilarity Highlight: My friend signed up as phishisover@jerrysdead.com.)

The third band from Saturday night at Staccato played three of the most ambitious covers ever, "Castles Made of Sand" (my favorite Hendrix song by far), "Superstitious" (which I still haven't seen covered well, only adequately), and "The Ocean" by Led. "The Ocean" cover was really good, but I've always seen it as an odd cover choice when it comes to gettin' the Led out. (I don't know if I actually believe that or just wanted to write "gettin' the Led out.") The best part came when they started the song, my friends immediately stopped their hippy-dancing antics and tuned in. I guess The Led is the tie that binds. Too bad this band's set was 1 hour, 15 minutes long, incurring my wrath with the bartenders, who, as always at Staccato, were class acts. The Guins, consummate professionals, played their hearts out like always, even opening up with a choreographed cover of T.Rex's "Cosmic Dancer." I've already written about this, but Saturday night, I felt pretty proud of them, rocking as they were.

I left a little drunk and got caught up in an "incident" with a drunk girl who refused to pay her cab fare. Virginians, if you're going to come into the city, please learn the Cab Zone System. Otherwise, you get what you deserve. This was my second truly great cab ride in as many weekends. Last weekend, I got free fare home because I rode around for an hour, helping the cab driver con Northern Virginians into rides to the Metro, for only $10 a pop. Much the same situation this time, but with different, more hilarious results, including me, laughing terribly, pointing out of the window and saying, "Yes, we're laughing at you." It was deserved, trust me. I ended up getting $2 off my fare for "being cool." Thanks, cab driver!

Sunday was pretty uneventful. I taught my new student, who's continuing to perform better and better every lesson, but mainly just lay around the apartment, regretting my decision to cancel the cable modem. I started reading Chuck Klosterman's new book, "Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story." So far, it's a doozy. I don't think it's as good as "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" but definitely better, at least in the beginning, than "Fargo Rock City."

Today so far has been pretty great. I altered my commute this morning to drive through the Chinatown warehouse/market district. It's almost like taking a left turn into Beijing, with nothing written in English, forklifts wizzing by at astonishing rates, people carrying sticks of dead, unfeathered chickens or bags full of ginger, rice and noodles strapped to their backs, plus it all has a very Communist feel to it. I got some good news this morning, followed by booking Bang Bang Bang into that slot on Aug. 24th. Those guys are really great and I've been wanting to see them forever. Finally, here's my commute soundtrack from this morning:
1. "Cascade Range" by The Strugglers (forthcoming, but damn, Randy, that song is amazing.)
2. "Knives Out" by Radiohead
3. "Theologians" by Wilco
4. "Sunday" by Sonic Youth
5. "AM180" by Grandaddy
(6. Then I listened to Howard Stern, but it was really racist and I didn't want to hear that sort of chatter.)
7. "A Summer Wasting" by Belle and Sebastian
8. "Tom Courteney" by Yo la Tengo
9. "The Wanton Song" by Led Zeppelin (For that crucial moment when, in order to merge into my turn lane, I must be doing at least 75 mph in order to beat out those cars coming onto Rt.50 from the Beltway. "Hot for Teacher" is also really good motivation for this moment.)
10. "Deceptacon" by Le Tigre
11. "Cold Blooded Old Times" by Smog (which is the perfect song for pulling into the parking lot on Monday morning.)

It doesn't get much better than that.

Life Beside the Stage

"So you're not in the band?"

I hear that same question every time one of my bands plays. The funny thing is, I can also predict how good or bad a venue experience will be by how they treat me after hearing my answer. After explaining that I only manage and placed my band on this bill or put together the entire bill for the booking team or owner, the good venues' door guys normally say something along the lines of, "Right on, bro. Hop in, grab a beer and come back here so I can tell you my band and give you my demo." The bad venues will say, "If you're not playing onstage, either give me $5 or get out of here." The door guys at the truly terrible venues have to ask their bosses.

I really don't mind paying the cover. My bands usually pay me back since I work for free, but there are principles involved. Besides, I do a lot of work on these shows. Free admission to see some of my favorite bands, including my own guys, is my only reward. A good venue knows that a guy like me, who does this strictly as a hobby, forms relationships with a lot of local bands and is good to know when an out-of-towner cancels three hours before a show because the van broke down in Richmond. Good venues also take care of their bands, either by booking them on bills that make sense, giving them a decent sound check, free beer, or even a full meal, not to mention money. I have yet to see a venue pay any of my bands over $200 for a small club show, but that's just how it works at this stage in their careers. The good smaller venues make up for the lack of money with the little things, even when they don't have a built-in crowd. In one extreme case, a bar in Baltimore gave a touring band enough healthy food to fill their van cooler for 3 days since the club couldn't give them much money. The band's drummer almost cried. (Drummer are ALWAYS hungry.)

On the other hand, bad venues treat everybody terribly. The door man's the kind of guy who saw "Road House" too many times. There's excessive "Security." The bartender's too busy flirting with coeds and doesn't fill half the orders he should. The bathrooms haven't been cleaned in two weeks and rats live under the stove. There's absolutely no show promotion from the club, not a even a free ad mentioning the show in the local alternative weekly. While customers are not happy with the bar, it's not like the bar cares because the customers aren't regulars. There are no regulars. On top of this, the sound is horrible, with no PA, no monitors, no sound guy (leaving the band, or even worse, me to do all the mixing), and there's usually either some cheesy light fixture bought in haste at Radioshack or huge, white lights that could fry eggs. Finally, the bad venue pays out only the barest minimum to the band, while refusing to reveal the trigonometric equation used to determine the amount paid. I've seen more than a few bands walk out of a bad venue with a mere $4 for two hours' work.

Different bands handle the low pay in a variety of ways. Lately, there was a famous incident at a local club (one of the good ones actually) where an out-of-town band, disappointed in their low pay, stole almost $1000 worth of mics and other equipment. Not only did the club owner call the next six stops of their tour and have the shows cancelled, but the staff appeared at the band's next appearance in Baltimore, threatening to beat the shit out of the band unless the equipment was returned. The band got so scared that they essentially called the cops on themselves. The next day, the thieving kid returned the equipment to the club, with the news that not only had he been kicked out of his band, but their tour was completely cancelled and they were limping home to Georgia. Instead of choosing this terrible route, bands should realize that the only way to deal with a bad venue is to never play there again. Eventually, the club will dig itself into a hole with the local music scene and either change themes or close down. Bad venues never turn into good venues, unless ownership or management changes hands. While nearly every club is a mix of both good and bad, the key is finding the ones that suit your style of music with the most good qualities.

*Just one caveat here. I personally love the dirty rock club, as my friends can attest. It's in a basement, smells terrible, everybody smokes, people are taking whiskey shots and talking jive or dancing oddly, teenagers are smoking pot in the awful bathrooms, there's something heavy onstage, be it the band or the 10,000 megawatt sound artillery system, and everybody, even the arrogant record store employee, is loving every minute of it.*

Of course, at any show, the best part of the night comes when my band hits the stage. Not only am I watching them, but I'm keeping an eye on the crowd. Which songs make them dance? At what point in the set does everyone herd towards the bathroom or bar? Which songs make people want to smoke? Which songs provoke the DC-patented "I'm not dancing but my knee, neck and shoulders really like this song" response? I only point out these specific things because every set for any musician has a bathroom break song, a "time for a beer" song and finally, a "let's all light a smoke" song. The last one always cracks me up, because the smoke song usually comes after the best song, like the audience has just collectively got done having sex. Don't believe me? Watch for it at your next concert.

However, the most important thing I do is look for the crowd members who seem to be enjoying the show the most. I always talk to those people and their friends after the set and usually introduce them to the bands. This is the best way to build a fanbase. Any time a casual fan can tell someone else that they "know the guys in the band," they'll come to every show and bring their friends, unless they were friends with the band before they started gigging. Those guys will only show up for the first two or three shows and then they're on their own.

Sure, a few things about managing bands sucks. First, you have to deal with a lot of ego. Rock n Roll has fulfilled Lester Bangs' prophesy by becoming an "Industry of Cool." Cool is an almost palpable commodity, and dealing with people who buy into it can be a pain. The only way to beat this is to stay relentlessly natural. Second, I used to get stuck soliciting email addresses for the mailing list. I've cut this out, mainly because if someone wants to sign the list, they'll walk over and do it themselves. Otherwise, most people just look at me like I have a nametag reading "Spammy McGee." Third, and possibly the worst, sometimes I'll get stuck sitting through some Blink 182 rip-off band or an acoustically-armed Jason Mraz wannabe with songs bad enough to make the hair on my arms stick straight up. However, these problems are easily endured with a little patience and some high-decibel count ear plugs. Everyday I get to test my intellect and talent to solve ever-changing problems. Most times, patience and persistance are my best weapons.

The biggest payoff comes when seeing my bands blossom into a great live act. There's nothing better than seeing a room full of people caught up in the moment of one of their songs, eyes closed, dancing, laughing, or sometimes even singing along. At that moment I realize why I do this; I'm helping bring something wonderful out into the open. After really good gigs, I walk up to help the guys offstange and give them the silliest grin that no amount of posturing can hide. I hope they appreciate it when they see it. It's the highest compliment I can give.

Finally, my absolute favorite part of doing this is all of the great people I get to meet. Whether they're other musicians, booking for clubs, making posters, or projecting films onto the sides of skyscrapers from moving vans, these people always have some great piece of advice or some new philosophy to explore, both professional and personally. I want to thank them all as they really make this whole experience worthwhile and hope that even when I stop managing (which will probably be sooner rather than later with grad school application time approaching), we'll continue to forge amazing friendships.

Tuesday Morning Blogging, Version 2.0

I'm bored at work, so here's a few thoughts:

1. I said goodbye to a friend last night. Hopefully, we'll see each again sooner rather than later, but until then, as always be safe out there on the road, good luck and godspeed.

2. Today is my friend's birthday. Happy Birthday, Vitamin C!

3. I wrote a little while ago about Mt. Rushmore. Apparently, the faces got washed but did they really have to bring up Honest Abe's not-so-honest coke addiction? I mean, he went to rehab like three times for that:



4. Here's some more "Knowledge" from those zany Scientologists. I'm fascinated by their "Wall of Fire." People, I beg you, please do not go read about this on the Internet though. Unless properly prepared, it could kill you by pneumonia or emsomnia! I would've done it myself as I've braved the highest valleys and the lowest mountains, but Tuesday morning is no time to take my life in hand. Other tidbits:

In OT Level-7, which is no longer in use by the Church (yeah, ok), this is Exercise 48:

1. Find some plants, trees, etc., and communicate to them individually until you know they received your communication.
2. Go to a zoo or a place with many types of life and communicate with each of them until you know the communication is received and, if possible, returned.

Wow. I also learned this about cats:

"Blinkers." Yes, these are part of one of the invader forces. We do teach that human beings have their origins elsewhere than earth. The invader forces are part of that history. They were not made by performing genetic engineering on earth cats, though. They come from another planetary system. Earth cats have a small component of their DNA. DId you ever wonder why cats are so unlike other animals? Did you know that aspirin is toxic to cats? Well now you know why.

Double Wow. Thanks for the information, Looney McInsaneski. I'm now going to the neighborhood pet store to buy a cat and name him "Blinkers the Evil DNA'd Earth Cat."

5. I'm trying this ASAP. The pictures alone are hilarious. Finally, something Fred S., his wife Frieda and I can do as a family. Too bad I'm the hunter and they're the prey. Squirrel Fishing!

Salon.com Arts & Entertainment | I Like to Watch

Salon.com Arts & Entertainment | I Like to Watch

"[TV show] 'Rock Star' doesn't mean that rock 'n' roll is dead. It just means that God is dead."

Ms. Havrilesky is one of my favorite Internet columnists for a reason.