[1218] Back To Reality

It’s been a full weekend. My friend and I went to all 3 days of Riot Fest, open to close, with one after show at The Cobra Lounge for Senses Fail. My feet hurt. I swore after our last festival that we should stop doing festivals, especially since both of us enjoy smaller venues and the energy you can’t find exhausted at the end of a field watching a video. I took off today because I work in Indianapolis and live even farther away. Thankfully, it rained, because I was intending to pick up furniture in service to my budding rental property endeavor.

The festival has a running “joke” about how much it sucks, yet every band that plays regularly expresses how much they love it or how it is their favorite. It’s all over the place genre wise. They put similar artists against each other. The layout, even as it seems to make a certain kind of sense, betrays another (like, maybe 2 water stands and the ability to walk around both sides of the stages). Overall the spirits were high, people tolerable, and beyond the miserable task of escaping back to parking, another one for the memories and lists.

For me, it marks the 66th-69th concerts, comedy shows, or theater performances I’ve been to this year. 371st since 2022. I got a lot of new concert T-shirts. I paid way too much for food. I won Snoop and Dre’s drink sunglasses. My nose was lightly tanned.

The idea of returning to work didn’t fill me with the usual dread. It’s sunk in in a deeper way that doing this, going to concerts, making the drives, budgeting for the indulges, is what I’ve made my “real world.” I do it more than I do anything related to my job. I already have built so much to ensure my overall comfort or preferences, I’m just stacking experiences and seeing where they take me. It feels like a different kind of power. I’m not rich, but I’m clearly privileged. I work hard, when I must, but I’m not an ironworker like my dad. I’m not in the courts or on the front lines of fighting fascism.

I’ve been so relatively focused on shaping my existence for so long. I don’t know that I take it for granted, especially because I write. I think I’ve seen every decision it’s taken to get where I am, and I have a healthy appreciation for what it’s going to take to get me where else I want to go. I still want a real community that focuses on group goals. I still want to go to sleep and wake up when I please. I still want the space to engage all of my creative ideas and hobbies at once. I want to create part of the machine that keeps the fascist impulse in us all at bay.

It’s been weird trying to figure out the nature of the tired over the last few days. The only thing that really hurt was my feet. Thankfully, I’ve been doing yoga at least once a week for the last few months. There’s a degree of physical tiredness, but it’s not like I couldn’t walk, stand, drive, or manage to move furniture if I had to today. I was deeply appreciative I got to come home and sleep. It’s now 1:35 and I’m to be up in about 6 hours to go to work. At once I still think I’d enjoy more recuperation, but I also feel like again I’ve proven to myself I’m not that old and could stand to be more involved, moving, dancing, or otherwise.

[1048] Vroom

Poised to be an extra-all-over-the-place one.

I’m back at my dad’s house after a weekend in Milwaukee. We saw Green Day, Foo Fighters, and most of the rest of the bands for Harley Davidson’s 120th anniversary festival. We ate great food. We drank beer. We navigated a mildly frustrating AirBnB situation, we got specialty coffee, and he picked up beer you can only get in Wisconsin. The day before, we saw David Cross and Sean Patton in Chicago during David’s latest special taping at The Metro. They were both tear-inducing and face pain funny. 

I do cool shit, but you already knew that.

I do cool shit like I’m someone who recognizes how quickly the entire world can be brought to its knees with the right bug. I do cool shit like I actually more believe than not I won’t have the opportunity to do so, at least in this country, when the fascist trends continue. I do cool shit like the artists actually mean something to me and like I think it important to generate positive feedback loops and new associations in an otherwise overwhelmingly stressful and stagnant existence. I do cool shit like it’s my job, because it is.

My dad has come with me to more music shows, comedy shows, or even movies than all of my friends combined over the last few years. My dad who iron works, takes care of graves in cemeteries hours away on the weekends, takes care of things around my aunt’s house, and keeps his own in order. My dad who’s turning 62 this year. My dad who lives 3 hours away from me. He has the time, energy, and attention to hang out and do cool shit in a way none of the other people I know, vaguely or otherwise, even flirt with having.

They don’t say, “Hey Nick, I’m not really into your genres of music, but so-and-so is playing, would you want to go to that?” They don’t say, “I’m so busy! But I’m budgeting to get a babysitter, and I’m definitely gonna hit, well, at the moment Fall Out Boy seems to be uniting people in a unique way." They don’t say, ”You sure do go to a lot, I’m legitimately too busy, but you’ve inspired me to take a little time and splurge or indulge or treat myself, because you know what? I do work a lot and I haven’t been attending to the necessary fun of a worthwhile life."

I inspire nothing! Today marks the 75th show for the year, 77th “fun thing,” with 34 left, Fall Out Boy on deck for tomorrow.

Is it debt? Yes. Is it long drives? Totally. Is it all of the risks associated with crappy vehicles, increasingly ugly and un-shared cultural landscape, and don’t my feet and back kind of ache? You might be arriving at the point and wisdom incumbent upon the whole endeavor. It’s work. It’s deliberate chosen effortful balance I’m interjecting against the void.

I’m incredibly frustrated by the lies, delays, and overall greedy empty nonsense trying to do good work and get paid for it. I don’t feel it in the same way as Hussain. It’s one, incredibly disappointing thing about how fucked we all are, let alone what I think to try to create. I have a dozen positive memories to choose from to pair that dissatisfaction with from the last few hours, let alone days. The “worst” thing about my life is “debt” which has come to symbolize considerably more about "potential" than "burdens" or "obligations." I don’t have a mortgage or car payment. I suspect you’d kill to be 3 months away, pretty much at all times, from being debt free, no?

But we’re broken. We don’t do the math budget-wise anymore than we do it with mental resources and allocated time towards worthwhile or otherwise thoughts. Concert crowds are certainly broken. All sense appears to have flown away. You’re around thousands of people, you’re going to get touched, you need to drink water, and setting down a blanket or chair anywhere near or around where a pit might open up is just a cunty dumb thing to do. When I’m walking back with two fresh beers to the spot I’ve been occupying for the last 7 hours, it’s the exact wrong time to strong arm block me and get into a debate about what, “We’re all trying to do” in getting in closer. No, bitch, you’re trying to be an incensed righteous lawyer cunt for no reason. I’m trying to politely edge past without spilling my waiting dad’s beer.

The whole concert scene has obviously been on my mind. It’s a unique expression of our selfishness and irony. I’m not there to love everyone in the crowd. The only thing we might have in common is barely knowing a few lyrics to some of your most popular songs. I suspect most people in the crowd haven’t read the latest Dave Grohl interviews or biographies of Green Day. A spattering of the crowd might be budding or capable musicians. Green Day in particular are great at appealing across generations. The old-school punk and the little girls all gather to belt out hits from 10 or 20 years ago despite 5 albums of music afterward you kind of pretend don’t exist.

I’m tired of hearing, “Welcome to the family!” from the singer of your band. I thought Pierce The Veil was incredibly awkward in their Green Day rip-off give-a-fan-a-guitar segment. Yes, Vic, sing into the weird gay kid’s eyes as he swoons on a stool before handing - an instrument he’s clearly never held in his life - a guitar he can keep and certainly cherish forever and not pawn. That’s crowd work.

Anyway, I’m gonna be 35 in 8 days. I suspect it will be uneventful. There won’t be a surprise party. No one’s taking me to dinner. I’ve already gotten the card from my parents with the $100 in it. On each day of the festival, tragedy struck someone in the circles of people I know. A friend’s mother’s best friend was murdered Friday. One of the step-kids’ husband had a stroke today. I’m just over hear chugging ice tea, listing my favorite bands, and bemoaning Sugarcult not getting as big as they should on the drive home.

I won’t be going this hard at this endeavor next year. I set the pace last year, kinda felt like I created a personal challenge to beat - beat severely - this year, and I’m chasing the feeling of a certain kind of magic going away. I used to find it incredibly hard to entertain the idea of ever leaving a show early, even a little bit, because I had to get my money’s worth. I didn’t go out that much. I’d never seen the band. What if something happens right at the end? I don’t leave early that often, but when I do, it’s because Tool is headlining, or the day before it took an hour just to walk out at an oversold My Chemical Romance Riot Fest performance, or Dave Grohl can make any one of his songs last 15 minutes, and that’s not always the best.

It’s an insane amount of privilege to perform, to attend, to afford the food, and to have the time to get there early, leave late, and be confident you’ve got the cash for the parking. It didn't use to be like that. It used to be music could bring any and all together. Now it brings those who can afford it, and those people are incredibly entitled, naive and out-of-touch cunts. It’s not all their fault, but they’re certainly not my friends, real or imagined versions of them, taking up room instead.

Finding common cause seems markedly different and opposite to finding common reaction. In a crowd, you react. That’s your job. Wave your hands. Jump. Scream. Unfortunately increasingly, hi-five, hug, introduce yourself, or dance with your neighbor. What are we all there for? To hear none of the women the day of or after The Supreme Court repeals Roe v Wade speak, sing, or scream into the mic about it? Hello, Lilith Czar, The Warning, and Halestorm, where the fuck were you?

If you’re not persuaded by the parts of the world on continuous fire, pick a metaphor you find agreeable. Minority stake holders in culture and environmental wars are plunging us into this absurd parody. How “festive” do you find festivals that have more bars than merchandise, art, or anything fun to do while you wait for your band to play? There’s music on. Some of them sound pretty angry. Anyone catch what it was? No protest song has stopped a war and no soundtrack makes the pills you swallow being born to your time and place any easier to digest.

The crowds aren’t diverse. The narratives around why are worn from being overplayed. The message isn’t clear and there’s no solidarity to be found. Rich whites like noise that helps them ignore all the screams they engender from their decision making. Let’s go, Brandon! No better time to be and loud and proud ignorant asshole than at the “Don’t wanna be an American Idiot” gig!

I want to say more or refine what’s here. I’ll try again later.

[1001] And The Band Played On

The last couple of weeks have been busy. I don’t really know that I’ve given myself the time to process. I don’t know if there’s that much to even process, but I know that I’ve taken in a lot of information I’ve yet to spit back out.

Less than 2 weeks ago I was at Cedar Point. I rode every roller coaster worth riding several times. I walked until my feet hurt immensely. I drove there the day before, and taught myself again to not rely on the kid that was there to be thankful or accommodating or helpful and I should always spend a little more for my own comfortable space. I was able to turn what felt like deliberately scammy marketing about a “season pass” into getting the day comped when I discovered at the gate I only had a “summer pass.” My fast pass felt like a worthwhile investment.

The next day I drove to Cincinnati for the Is For Lovers festival. I get acquainted with some new bands and see again a few I had earlier this year. I was in pain the entire time, but managed to walk between stages and get up close to most of my favorites. I drove through the night back home, and 4 days later would find myself in Chicago for Riot Fest.

Before getting to that festival I got to see Smash at her place for the first time in years. We got to talking about the past and how the group dynamics changed. She showed me her kick-ass art that I need to find a way to get promoted or turned into a series. It was the kind of interaction that proved to me time is an illusion and that we’re all just where we are, either making  and enjoying and investing in the moment together, or not. There is no other side of the hill. There is no place to occupy with someone else if you don’t already do with yourself.

She had another friend over who brought an expensive thermal imaging toy with him where we spotted deer, owls, and coyotes in a nearby park. When we got back to the house Smash and I kept talking as her boy and friend got dreary and went to sleep. I got some insight into my incredible insensitivity back then, and we explored just how cynically one might regard the person next to you in how you establish expectations. It’s literally gradations of that kind of interaction that had me so thoroughly invested in the friend group in college.  

The next day it’s off to Riot Fest. My AirBnB kind of sucks and I can’t get checked in until after the first day. I Uber it to the park, a mistake when I discover my phone almost dead and thousands of people trying to catch a ride away at the end of the day. After a miserable battery balancing act, I get one after walking far enough away, and with 1% manage to access the series of door codes that get me inside my AirBnB. Did I mention it kind of sucked? Not clearly marked, 1 towel, paper thin walls, and poorly air conditioned. At that point, very late, I just crash. Did I forget to say the oversold concert took 40 minutes just to walk outside from?

Days 2 and 3 were comparably better in that I learned from another friend who attended of a parking garage considerably closer than the distance I walked away to find an Uber. I better planned to leave before the final song, listening to the closing tracks on the walk along or on a bench outside the fence. I had “Deluxe VIP” tickets, which were seemingly also oversold and only worth the money because I’m a generally poor planner who didn’t bring a cane/seat, shade, or backpack that would have eased some pain points. The “VIP” viewing areas were further away than you could comfortably stand or even access in bigger crowds. Only a proper alcoholic could drink the money’s worth at the open bar. It kept me out of the “everyone needs to step back” after every song crowd for My Chemical Romance, but it was mostly a learning experience I’m happy was better than what I wasted on VIP for System of a Down. I drove back home through the night, and called in sick when I couldn’t sleep by 4 AM.

I didn’t meet anyone worth mentioning. I got some compliments on the Four Year Strong jersey and Bayside T-shirt I bought. I got complimented on a hat I found on the ground and started wearing. Most people that I caught looking at me smiled. I didn’t really think twice about the money I spent on food or other things at the concert. I only drank 1 of 3 days, and that problem of “Why drink if it’s alone?” arose pretty quick. I feel incredibly thankful for being told about the parking, being able to drive the car Hussain lent me, and being able to make the drives safely. It’s also the first day that it’s starting to feel like I’ve been doing a little “too much.”

Someone on reddit posted all of their concert tickets from 1970 to 2010. I started counting. He had between 40-50 and they included baseball games and to things like “The Wiggles.” In the comments he said it was only about half of his concert tickets. By the end of the year, I’d have 56 if I had physical tickets. I’m always counting or making comparisons like this. You could tell he took a lot of pride in his collection and got a lot of engagement and upvotes. I have this sneaking suspicion were I to upload printouts of all the shows, it would just strike people differently.

I just seem to go hard in every direction. Once it’s picked, game over. I want to watch all the TV, learn all the instruments, see all the bands I like after collecting every track well-independent of if there’s enough hours left in my life to consume it all. THEN I DO THE FUCKING MATH AND DISCOVER THERE IS! And I’m even planning to watch things when I’m too old to move around or that I think will be funnier or easier to galvanize other elderly watchers when we’re all stuck in the same boat.

One of my office managers asked how old I was recently, and when I said 34 she went “Oh, that’s so young!” Like, in a sense, yeah. I can walk my happy broken ass all over parks and drive through the night and mosh and eat kinda shitty and think about the future like it’s still open to what I might do with it in business or cultural revolution. But there’s that infinite disconnect, be it in awareness, partnerships, commitment, or just spirit of “yes” and “do.” We’re still trapped. No matter how rich I get, or if I’m seeing a different show every day of the year, my practice is unlikely to become yours. And I don’t know that there’s anything I can really do about that.

I called off work today and intended to watch TV straight through. I kept falling asleep. Then I decided to update my dating profile with so many words. Now I’m writing this and it’s going on midnight, and because I’ve had several consecutive days reminding me that I get most of my energy at and through the night, I’m trying not to persuade myself into the dread of going back to work on a “normal” schedule. I felt it for a second as I started that sentence, and then was like, nah, because I know what I’m about to say next.

It might be 3 weeks or so before the house sells. The buyer did the walkthrough and agreed to the terms. This means enough money to pay off all my debt, plus 2 more paychecks, and theoretically I’ll have started taking on clients either via Marion County DCS or places we know who have overflow clients that need to pay via insurance. In 2 to 5 months, my already “fuck you” spending could turn into a situation that transcends any monetary access and living arrangement I’ve ever had. I’m technically already not in debt barring a catastrophe where the house never sells. The gaping wound of all I didn’t know in how to get this business started has begun to sew up. I’m struggling to find the thing to worry or complain about. I feel like there’s a way out, and if I can get firmly in the flow that always finds the next opening, I might be able to focus on how to create that access for anyone else willing to dive in.

[987] 2 For The Price of F Uh? N

 

My mind’s still buzzing, so let’s see what’s on it.

Tonight’s was a good show. It was only a good show. The opener picked out a 9-year-old from the crowd and said something like, “You can be anything you want to be, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise” before getting the crowd to collectively say, “Happy birthday.” She said, “This one goes out to those who only follow their own rules. You’re perfect just as you are, don’t ever change for anything.” Go figure, I just looked her up thinking she was young, but she’s actually performing under an alias, because I recall enjoying Juliet Simms. She’s a considerably better musician than she is thought leader.

 I hear pretty often at shows how much, “We’re all in this together.” Are we? You have very deliberately and purposefully put all talented women on your tour, and none of you even mentioned voting, fighting, or doing anything beyond singing the words to your songs. What are we in together, precisely? The collective delusion that music actually saves us or guitars kill fascists?

It’s getting a little exhausting, and I have many more shows left this year. Clearly, we’ve chilled in our daring self-expression and freedom to speak to how fucked things are. Either we’re collectively hopeless, or we consider it pointless and are just trying to get a few headbangs in before the wandering Proud Police come to actually bang our heads. I don’t respect people with platforms more protective of their brand than the environment that allows them to cultivate one, at least, for a little while longer.

I’ve felt kind of inspired. Making the few phone calls to doctor’s offices made my overwhelming fatalism feel practical and accessible again. I’m discovering how I want to massage my pitch. I’m filling in blanks on a spreadsheet. It’s a nice little to-do while I’m waiting around for my only meeting of the day, and if I get even a handful of yeses or decent conversations, I might start pocking my days with a few more $20s.

A bunch of my new stuff arrived. Books, games, tools, and a big cot because I’m sick of waking up with back pain. I feel poised this weekend to work more outside provided the weather doesn’t take a turn. I got a vest that lets you attach icepacks to it. I have, probably about $1000 more to spend before I have everything to complete the wood shop and most of the fence. That would still only put me working until November to get out of debt.

-------------------------------A couple days later----------------------------------------------

Band of Horses is playing in front of me. I've sat in an exploitively cost prohibitive seat that was not the one I paid for, but is definitely one of a set that I've been idling in a shopping cart, refreshing now and then, for the last two and a half hours... just in case. I'm alone. It's my 29th concert or comedy show this year. Band of Horses just ended on the one song of theirs I sorta knew and do like.

Is this fun? Have any/all these shows been "worth it?"

I ask the questions not because my motivations are unclear, but because of some portions of conversation I had with a friend last night. She conveyed that going to so many shows back-to-back would be overwhelming or exhausting and that she only really likes shows where she knows all of the band's music. I feel where she's coming from. 2 years ago when I bought expensive VIP tickets to Riot Fest it was because My Chemical Romance had gotten back together and were headlining. I expected that to be "my concert" or "my gift to myself" for the year.

Things changed. Everything locked down. People you didn't think were gonna die, did. All of a sudden, if you have a chance to capture and experience, "now" became more real. So, sales started up, and I started buying and planning. The first few concerts this year it was required-enough to have a mask ready. Industries tied to music that came close to the brink started to roar back to life.

There's a few things at play for how and why I do things. I like to familiarize myself with "everything." I like to collect things, so even if real tickets are a thing of the past, printouts can go in my little book. I've been pushing myself to be more open to things that I would have reflexively ignored or dismissed like every band playing that I didn't come to see. I like getting to know the areas the concerts take place and having a decent plan for getting around. I like not sitting in my house all day. I like having easy "interesting" clout for lazy conversations with people who don't do anything. I bring books to read between sets and for before the show starts.

Today, by chance, I have a headache as an area worked on during my rolfing appointment is being disagreeable. I accidentally drained my truck battery before the show idling in the parking lot trying not to sweat to death. I live no less than an hour away from every show, and today's is the second farthest venue. I stay mildly tense I'll have to vacate my seat until about the middle of the headliner's slot. Who's paying $568 to see half a show that isn't sold out?

I won't remember the headache until I read this back. There are hundreds of cars that might jump me, if my little jumper doesn't again, if it's needed at all as it was back and running before I left to come inside. "Fun" doesn't really apply to the "life" things that happen while you're trying. Living in a state of existence that has to question the reliability of your shit isn't fun by default.

Hanging out with my friend was fun. She’s funny and we can talk pretty much indefinitely. The funny David Cross video that The Black Keys played before they came out was suggestive of what I gather to be their brand of fun. I have fun with the idea of tearing down institutions that have failed. Almost every show I’ve been to at The Comedy Attic has been fun. Hanging out with my dad is fun. I’m fun.

To me, fun springs from the spontaneity of the interactions between conscious beings. All of the concerts have been “good,” and a few “more fun” or “funny” because of the personalities of the performers. Another friend of mine was at Earth, Wind, and Fire and we got to dance together after I’d had a few beers. I don’t normally drink when I go to shows. You combine day-drinking, dancing, and one of the most energetic shows that brought everyone to the dance floor? Yeah, quite fun.

I have a tendency to turn everything into a kind of grind. I can’t just play a video game. I have to buy every iteration of that game and set myself up for weeks of dedicated playing so I can really appreciate the differences or story. I can’t just listen to music. I have to download everything from every artist I’ve remotely come into contact with, keep them all on shuffled rotation, and go out of my way to buy new equipment to house my entire library. It’s not enough to vibe with and repeat my favorites. What if my next favorite song is on tomorrow’s playlist? Even building things. I stop for long periods of time when I suck the fun out of it, and the playpen nature of my aim, and it turns into a “project” that takes too much planning or energy or sacrifice like battling the elements when I’m not in the mood.

Is anything I’m ever doing that fun?

It wasn’t that long ago we were at a roller coaster park. Seeing new coasters is fun. Drops are fun. The speed is fun. Going around a section and losing your phone isn’t fun. The coaster locking its harness down too tight and pinching your balls isn’t fun either. Getting knocked around violently on a wooden coaster until you get a headache sucks. Riding them back-to-back until you’ve memorized every turn and start to get sick slowly chips away at the fun aspects. Is a roller coaster fun?

I think I’m just approaching the realization that it’s a poorly conceived question that we habitually utilize in attempting to understand whether to do something. We ask kids if they have fun, they pretty clearly say yes or no. We don’t evolve our capacity for fun linguistically, so a night out when you’re tired might get a trite, “This was fun!” under a picture, whether or not you recall nursing a beer for hours, barely talking, and wishing you were in bed.

There’s fun, for open-minded types, in novelty, but as you get older, how much really feels that new? Eventually, if you’re paying attention, you’ll discover that even the process of learning something new or seeing something for the first time gets familiar. When I go to learn a new song, it’s fumbling in the dark, slowly recognizing the pattern or getting my fingers in order, anticipating the next lines that I couldn’t get the first few passes, then repeat repeat repeat until I’m barely thinking about what I’m playing or singing at all. The “fun” has to evolve, because while I’m certainly always learning, the motivation to start playing an instrument is fundamentally different than the one to continue doing so. I know how to play, but do I want to write songs? Do I want to perform? Do I want to practice and study in a dedicated way until theory matches instinctive physical capacity? I do, but that gets expensive in attention resources if nothing else.

During the concert, I got a call about the continuing-to-rage dumpster fire that is DCS. More dedicated and good people have fled. They’re trying to fuck with my friend’s years-long effort to stabilize the kid. It may be time to attack. Now, we’re talking real fun. It illuminates the nature of that evolved “fun” concept. It builds in work, consequences, and accountability. Is it more or less fun than going to concerts? It’s simply a prospect that I might get more or less out of depending on how I approach it and what I notice as it unfolds. So goes everything on the roller-coaster.