Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Because I’m Not Successfully Copycatting Unless I Post a Picture
I remember way-back-when and I used to write posts in the style of some other blogger (but, honestly, it was mostly just Estella-turned-Erin). Like I only had one thing that seemed like “mine,” and even THAT was ripped off. The last time I did the imitation/flattery thing, Styro commented that my Dooce-aping wasn’t funny. So, I guess we’ll go with the anti-Dooce . . . SJ at I, Asshole. (I’m like a dog with a bone on the fucking blog-whoring, right?)
Scene One: Guess Who You WON’T be Seeing at the Women’s World Cup in 2023
Despite my enthusiasm about soccer, our daughter was not named after Mia Hamm. Michelle was genuinely trying to pick a name that had no connection to anyone in either of our families. Which I think was an all-round great idea. Still, I’d like to see Mia grow up to be a soccer player.
But that will never happen.
She’s been on the princess/ballerina kick for a while and, after watching some soccer with me on T.V., said that she didn’t want to play soccer because she didn’t like getting knocked down. Which is understandable. But her preschool has started doing some semi-organized soccer training in the afternoons, and they had a “game” last Friday.
The “field” was set up on a hill. There were supposed to be two teams of seven, but it turned out to be four on four. Mia was great with the running around after the ball, but I think she only TOUCHED the ball one time . . . and that was because someone kicked the ball at her.
Time to start researching those ballet lessons.
Part Two: Gwen Step-on-Me, Indeed (Alternately, Summer Turds in the Cell-Whore, and How Not to be a Total Motherfucking Douchebag Asshole)
Out in the fringes of the Indie-Rock Galaxy, our band exists as a very small planet orbiting an unimpressive, dim sun. This is the Tallahassee music scene. When you play a “locals only” show with other bands with no “following,” it can be a soul-crushing experience. But when out-of-town / touring bands come through, and you get put on the bill, it can be somewhat more exciting.
A week ago, we were lucky enough to land on a bill with three out-of-town bands and another local. Not huge names, but interesting and compatible. The headliners were from Athens, Georgia. Our band was slotted to play second to last. Cool, right? Fourth of five bands (the fifth band was another local).
The first band (The Winter Sounds . . . also from Athens) were fuckin’ great (and very nice). I bought their CD and chatted them up a little. The other local band was next, and here’s where the problem starts: Two guys plus shitpiles of equipment. It took them quite a while to set up and break down. I didn’t give it a lot of thought until much later. During Dear and Glorious Physician, I was beckoned outside for an impromptu band meeting. It seems that the headliners wanted to switch slots with us. Not an unusual request at a “locals only” show, but kind-of weird for a touring band. We cave a lot in these situations, but I knew our drummer (Mr. ADD) wasn’t gonna go for it, anyway; plus, there seemed to be a strong “no” consensus. So, that’s that, right?
Wrong. Our band diplomat passed along the news. The negotiator for the headlining band says something along the lines of, “Well, we’re the headliners, so we’ll talk to the manager and have you guys thrown off the bill.” LUCKILY, this detail wasn’t reported to the rest of us until days later. As it was, Mr. ADD called them cocks under his breath as he stormed out of the club with his drums and we were talking to the club manager. I guess our Power Play trumped theirs, because we ended up playing next anyway.
Look, don’t be that band. If you’re (still) a relatively unknown touring band and you’re billed as the headliner, don’t cause a scene when you have to play after 11 . . . even if you want to go to an after-party with the other touring bands. Because, even though you were a tool, the band you attempted to dick over stayed to see your set and liked you enough to buy your CD (anyway).
Part the Third: Distraction Over
Every time we sit down to watch an episode or four of “24” in one sitting, I comment how happy this must make our cats. Well, sorry, kitties. Because even though we’ve started watching the recently purchased Season 3 (and didn’t even wait until it arrived; we rented the first two discs because “24” is to us as heroin was to Jack Bauer back in Season 3), it’s time for “Heroes,” again. After several weeks of being without it, I can finally live again. Unlike Isaac, apparently.
(p.s. – Does anyone watch “Drive?” Doesn’t the setup of the show, the FEEL of the show, seem to be very “Heroes”-esque? I’m betting that’s why the show is scheduled [on another Network, mind you] to run before “Heroes.” It’s cooperative programming. Smooth one, Mr. Murdoch.)
"Rock Star" • Imitation/Flattery • (6) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
“. . . And 24 is Breathing in My Face . . . Like a Mad Whore.”
So, lately, I’ve been, all, “Fuck this blogging thing. I’m gonna be creative. And productive. Creatively productive!” In case you didn’t know. I wasn’t starting a story or anything. FYI.
Whenever I get back on the poetry “wagon,” I’ll work on a few poems and maybe even bring one or two of them to some form of completion. And then it’s all about publishing . . . getting my name out there. Fame, right? Shyeah . . . I’m sending out poems I wrote 10 years ago coupled with poems I wrote in 5 minutes back in October. (Writober!) After getting rejected by some small-press journals over the past couple years, I decided it was high time (y’know, in the face of all that rejection) to up the ante and submit to more prestigious journals. Which is what I’m up to now. In the realm of “creativity.”
The band that I’m playing with now has a show tonight. Hopefully. Our drummer (Mr. ADD) was afflicted with some stomach bug thing yesterday and was all shades of vomit-y, missing our last pre-show practice. Beer will not save us from what is to come.
Michelle and I had never, ever, watched an episode of “24.” And then her mom got addicted to it and has gone back to the first season. So, we’ve dutifully followed. I’m really amazed by how GOOD that show is.* And how NORMAL Keifer can make himself. Right now, we’re working to keep ourselves from living out Jack Bauer’s life in real time.
Goddamn promotion. (Hey, let’s put quotes around that. “Promotion.”)
* “Rome” . . . don’t worry, tender flower. I will never abandon you. Even when you’re dead and gone. I’ll never forget all the stabbing and drug abuse and rampant varieties of S&M (apparently practiced on BOTH sides of the Mediterranean. All in ONE episode. I love you, baby.
"Rock Star" • Boob Tube • (2) Comments closed • Permalink
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Something New. And Old. And Pimp-y.
When my band broke up a few months back, I was pretty pissed . . . and hurt. Feeling lost and vindictive. Lots of passive-aggressive, behind-the-back name-calling. The works. Anyway, I had a conversation with some friends at a party that I was done with music and was going to focus on writing. Y’know, the “novel” and poetry. Maybe starting another poetry journal. Whatever.
So, of course, I’m in another band now. It’s a lot less stressful than the previous band because there’s no rent, it’s a lot closer to my house, and I’m playing bass (two less strings!). Oh, and the atmosphere is more fun and less . . . tense. I’ll keep you posted on further developments, The Internets.
In other news, SJ over at I, Asshole is trying to get a free ticket to BlogHer (not linking here) through a popularity contest they’re having. Now, I’m no BlogHer (or popularity contest) supporter, but SJ is awesome and she can only lift up the mommy-centric discourse there. Anyway, click on this link and follow the instructions. It’s pretty painless, and it’s for a good cause.
Happy Hallmark-Love Day, everyone! Me and the Missus are going to a fancy restaurant that we’ve never visited. If you know me at all, you have some idea how THAT is gonna go.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
ohmygod . . .
The Girls played (as a favor) at a church “block party” last night . . . part of some city-wide religious out-reach . . . thing. Anyway, this guy walks up to Michelle as we’re leading Mia back to our car to go home.
This guy: “I just wanted you to know that I go to this church, and my license plate is ‘80s DUDE,’ and I obviously thought you were great.”
Michelle (backing away): “Thanks.”
This guy (reading my shirt): “What’s . . . that . . . say . . ?”
Me: “Oh, it says, ‘Oh my god . . .’ “
This guy: “Uh . . . ha . . .” *walks off*
Michelle: “Probably not the most appropriate shirt to wear to this.”
Me: “You should’ve worn yours.”
"Rock Star" • The Bad Citizen • (4) Comments closed • Permalink
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Old English in Gainesville
When you’re relaxing after your band’s set, played to a crowd of three, by listening to a heavy-metal band made up of dejected high-school dropouts lifted from a Mountain Goats’ song (with a crowd approximately 33% larger than yours), and the bum who didn’t pay cover climbs onto the stage to flap his arms to the music before he is guided from the stage by the soundman and then ushered out by the doorguy, you’d better keep an eye on your malt liquor is all I’m sayin’.
Monday, April 03, 2006
So . . . Sleepy . . .
Before the weekend of “rock-star” excitement began, I said that I’d be amazed if everything went according to plan. Well, I’m amazed. And now I’m also very, very tired.
Our shows went well. The Girls got to Miami and back safely (and their show was awesome, but I’ll let Michelle tell you about that). Because our camera is still missing / lost / misplaced, my snapshots are in form of bullets:
-- Our first show (Friday night) was at the Unfair, an art exhibition by non-major art students at FSU. There were paintings and drawings, videos, and some performances (including belly dancing and hula-hooping). My personal favorite was the “artist” who manipulated Andrew Wyeth’s “Christina’s World” to include dragons, one of which was setting Christina’s house on fire with its breath.
-- There was an anthropomorphic condom on stage with us with a selection of free condoms (extra-lubricated or dual-pleasure).
-- Our friend Mark’s band, Yellow Crystal Star, which included a drummer for this outing, played alongside a performance-artist (Bob), who was a middle-aged guy painted head to toe with white acrylic paint. The band played one long instrumental piece (very reminiscent of a tribal, early-70s Pink Floyd) while Bob sort-of danced in slow motion with a stage light. I should mention that Bob was naked, except for a well-placed thong-type covering.
-- I didn’t drink too much at the show, and we got out at a fairly reasonable hour. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of going out afterward.
-- I spent most of Saturday really hungover. After coming home from loading in for the second show (reuniting with Michelle, back from Miami), I had lots of half-flat Sprite and raw carrots. Hangover gone. (In fact, I felt so good, I had a beer at the show and a shot of Crown . . . with a ginger ale in between.)
-- The second show was at Tallahassee’s “new rock” haven. I think everyone who came to see us was on the guest list. And still we walked away with twice the amount of money we were promised.
-- One of the bands was from Bainbridge, Georgia, and brought along a lot of friends / fans. A number of drunk females were grinding on one another in a faux-lesbitronic way. I’m sure their boyfriends were very impressed.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Day Off (Death of Me)
I’m not at work today. I had the grand idea a week or so ago that I’d take off and get some stuff done . . . maybe relax a little. But remember how the past couple weekends have been fairly tranquil and activity-free? Well, this weekend is BOOKED SOLID. Seriously, our schedule this weekend will be to relaxing what first-time prison sex is to making sweet, sweet love in a flowery garden. In Paris. On your birthday.
In just over an hour, Michelle and the Girls are leaving for Miami where they will be playing a show. At 1 o’clock in the morning (tomorrow). A few hours earlier, my band will be taking the stage here in town at a hastily arranged art-exhibit show on campus (FSU). Tomorrow morning, just hours after leaving the stage, the Girls will depart Miami to come home. HOPEfully, they’ll make it back by the time we have to load in for our NEXT show . . . even MORE hastily arranged. (I’m not kidding that a week ago, we didn’t have a show until April 12 and then we completely tripped and fell into two back-to-back shows in one weekend. Christ’s wounds.
And then we’re taking Mia to see Dora, Dora, Dora the Explorer (DORA!) Sunday afternoon. We hope to have a little downtime on Sunday. Much-needed downtime. Because Monday, the Girls will be opening for The Fixx.
So, to summarize: Four shows in four days, bilingual explorers, happy toddler, sleep-deprivation, road drama, binge-drinking. The End.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
It’s a MUSIC DEBATE! (Part One of Infinity)
Let me preface this by saying that I know it’s very difficult to come up with anything original musically in this day and age. And that I’m likely unfairly biased on this subject. Also, I’m not the best spokesman for independent artists (or anything, really). Jesus. Maybe I should’ve prefaced this with “PREFACE:”.
So, we played a show a couple nights ago opening for a major-label post-punk band and their touring sidekicks (indie pop darlings who chose to name themselves using an obscure Cure lyric). To avoid boring you all to death, I’ll leave out some of the details, but let’s summarize by saying that it was an okay show (by both bands) and that I’m a petty bitch. Point is that I, in some reflexive / reactionary / impulsive moment that I can only blame on being married to Michelle, I posted about the show on our band’s MySpace blog. And now everyone (in my own band) is calling me out.
Let’s say that Joy Division is Generation One (although they were clearly influenced by Velvet Underground, who would, in this case, be Generation Zero . . . whatever). All those post-punk bands (most notably Gang of Four) from 1979 to the early 80s are Generation One. In Generation Two, we have our Interpols, Franzs, Maximos, and Killers-es; yeah, Generation Two has been around for years, right? So, NOW a band comes along like they have discovered some nugget of holy Ian Curtis’ fierce mission, seemingly spurred on by bands that they’ve heard doing Joy Division some great injustice, put aside their RAP careers, signed to a major-label, and started pimping their brand of post-punk as the sweet nectar juiced for them straight outta 1980s Manchester.
I read the interview on their bio page, and it just seemed like out-of-left-field jerkdom, prepared to diss all the other retro-revivalists (playing “spot the fakes”) because they were THERE, listening to all those Generation One bands when it was going on (and dating themselves by speaking about it). “Yeah, and there’s a hundred bands doing mediocre period/genre music, but none of it makes me feel like I did when I was a kid [sitting] in my room listening to The Queen is Dead or Purple Rain on the record player. It’s easy to capture the style of the music, but writing songs that speak to people is a very different thing.” I want to know what makes them more special than Interpol. I was there, too, fellas. And you’re no better than any other Generation Two (or Three) band.
The stinging part is that I realize I’m being pointlessly bitter about it. And the cherry on top is that I like a lot of what they do. Sure, it’s uncomplicated post-punk and the vocals have almost no range at all, but I enjoy that kind of music. I just wish they weren’t so fucking up front about how they’re going to find everyone and hose them down with their special blend of emotive (or unemotive) post-punk.
I’d actually thought of starting a debate series where I invite readers to debate me on a variety of topics, wherein I would ultimately end up losing the debate and then post excerpts from the debate here for the enjoyment of others. Bring it! I know some of you have opinions about this subject. (If you don’t have my IM address, and would like to expositionally kick my ass, shoot me an email.)
"Rock Star" • Music • (7) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
That’s the Way the World Works*
Ever the “responsible” homeowner, I thought it’d be a good idea to mow the lawn this weekend in anticipation of throwing down some “weed and feed” in anticipation of the rain-promising cold front. I mowed Saturday afternoon and figured I’d spread the fertilizer when I found out what the rain forecast was. Yesterday morning, I was hearing better than 60% of some heavy rain and thunder. (Sweet!) So I promptly threw on my medium-duty gloves (with latex gloves underneath) to hand-spread the fertilizer (yes, I realize how maturbatory that reads).
So, of course, it sprinkled a few drops last night and a little more this morning. WOO-HOO! Dollar Weeds FOREVER!
As you can probably tell, our weekend wasn’t that eventful. It got off to a quick start, though, with a wedding reception Friday night, followed by much-needed potato casserole. Things slowed WAAAAAY down from there.
Tonight, my band is playing its first show in, like, two months. Opening for She Wants Revenge. Unfortunately, we’re going on at about 8:30, so we’ll be rockin’ the inattentive soundman, a couple bartenders, some bouncers, the door guy, Ms. Jazz Hands (maybe), and a handful of kids whose parents dropped them off too early. I’d take a sad picture from the stage, but we can’t find our digital camera.
* one of my favorite things to say when bad things happen, or someone falls into a patch of bad luck