This afternoon, Jon Gilmore and I will get into the car and head down to a Welmore Mile show. This is no ordinary show, however. We will not be playing in a coffee shop to an audience of lonely boys and shoegazers. No, we will be performing for a summer camp filled with 7th graders.
What the hell are we thinking?
We’ve been hired to play two 30-minute sets for these hyperactive kids, and I have no idea how we’re going to fill it. Our original plan was to exclusively perform Rush covers in an attempt to create the most horrific, brutally awkward situation ever devised. As it is, we’ll probably head down there, play some joke songs, talk about junk and plow through. Afterwards, we will consume alcohol and never speak of it again. This is really what Welmore Mile is all about – escaping awkwardness through beer. Sometimes it’s about escaping reality through massive quantities of beer. Some songs – only a few – are about feeling unable to connect with women without the help of some primo opium. All performed with sweet harmonies.
So my mind is elsewhere today, swimming about in a dark sea of remorse and dread. I’d like to finish up by sharing with you a list, devised by an old friend of mine named Phil Meyer. This is his definitive list of why he is a bad person, it somehow seemed applicable after this post:
1. I don’t have any actual food in my apartment right now, apart from some raisin bran which I am eating dry out of the box. No milk. Clearly I have sunk to depths of depravity previously unfathomable by mortal men.
2. My bedroom walls are bare, but for a single Radiohead poster for Amnesiac. Surely this indicates that human emotion is my enemy.
3. I got a dart board for Christmas. I still haven’t put it up. Each of those darts may as well be a nail in the cross of my loathsomeness.
4. When showering, I wash with pure lye and a brillo pad. Evil? Damn skippy it is.
5. If I see someone who needs a jump start for their car, or they have a flat tire, I’ll stop and help them out. But inside, I’m thinking, “I hope this is one of those tests where God sends an angel to pose as a human in need to see how I’ll react. I hope he’s impressed and showers me with pennies and a large jug of Mad Dog 20/20 that overfloweth forever and ever, amen.” If you were looking for a subhuman wretch, you’ve found him.
6. I frequent online music chatrooms and forums, where I defend Scott Stapp as a musician and person. “You’re just jealous,” I say. “He is the Bob Dylan of adult-friendly poseur-rock.” You might not think this is so bad, but I wait for a few seconds and add, “J/K!!! LOL!!! Scott Stapp R00LZ and so don’t you!” I log out while people are trying to figure out what the hell that even means. Truly, I lay waste to the concept of morality.
7. Although I do not require sleep and instead spend every moment plotting wicked schemes, I am about to use fatigue as an excuse to end this half-assed journal entry.
Well, I hope you enjoyed that. Gee, look at the time. I’m bushed. Time to hit the hay. Pile on the saddle blankets and ride south into dreamland, as they say.
8. I make up sayings.