Going back to work after being on tour is basically like sleeping in a five star hotel and having a bum piss on your face the next morning. And the bum, he was eating asparagus.
Okay, there's a healthy dose of hyperbole there. Because a) my job isn't that bad. Wait, no, scratch that. The PEOPLE at my job aren't that bad, which is at least half the battle. And b) it's Monsthursday. Monsthursday is a wonderful thing. Not as good as Monsfriday, of course, but you can't really be greedy when you're working a two day week. Hopefully some of you enjoyed the equally elusive MonsWednesday yesterday, a feat improbable by the usual schedule of standardized holidays in the States. Usually, you can only hope for one a year, that being Thanksgiving week, so, why don't I stop complaining and just carry on? Great idea. I hereby promise to not whine about work for the rest of month. Odds of me forgetting that next Wednesday? Two to one.
So, after playing (and subsequently watching) a show nearly every day for the last month, I decided to spend my off day yesterday...watching another one. And sleeping in, of course. It's nice not having to worry about our own set sometimes though, nice being able to get innebriated without worrying whether you can play that tricky part of Alabama, and triply nice to watch Division Day and Two Seconds for free.
As most of you know, us four birdmonsters love Division Day. They're our band best friends. Sometimes we play MASH together and hang out in my treehouse. I beat Kevin at Hopscotch all the time. And, allow me to mention we're beginning our next tour with those fine chaps, come mid-August. Dates & information forthcoming. For now, let's both just enjoy some Beartrap Island and make fun of Rohner's hair.
Now, a little something about Two Seconds. We played with them at BFD, but, in all honesty, I have trouble judging bands at outdoor shows. Too much sunshine, I think. I prefer my music in opium den dankness, and, although the Mezzanine doesn't quite fit that description, I was quite happy to have a chance to see them indoors. Let me tell you: they rock. No, wait. They fuckin' rock. And there's only two of them. And they're sixteen. See, when I was sixteen, I'm pretty sure I was listening to Iron Maiden, sporting a bowl cut, and watching too many X-Files re-runs. I certainly wasn't in a bad ass band. So, my hats off to these ladies. Wonderful show and, like all my favorites, they were actually enjoying themselves onstage. Which is oh so important. That whole tortured, depressed onstage persona: no bueno. You're playing music. People paid to see you do so.* Let's see some canines.
So what now? I'm not sure. We've got just one show this month, at the always glorious Bottom of the Hill, plenty of new songs to work on, and plenty of instruments to repair. And there's the World Cup this weekend. I'm torn between my pseudo-disdain for both the match-fixing Italians, and the French, who dive more than Greg Luganis did all last century. Here. Let me flip a coin. Heads is Italy, tails France.
See you tomorrow.
*OK, so they didn't last night, but you get my point.