Getting Older: The Concert That Could Have Been


 

Where I come from, concerts were hard to come by. I should stress that the local stuff was there, it was easy. It was the big names, they were the difficult ones. They required that you drive three hours to watch them. Heck, even the local ones required a half hour to an hour long road trip. It was a really small town.

So, for me, the culture of seeing live shows isn’t exactly engrained in my DNA. I didn’t do it enough then, to feel like I need to do it now. Don’t get me wrong, I like going to concerts, but I have to really want to go.

My wife and I had had a busy day, a trip to the dentist and other errands. We were eating dinner at the local hip music place to eat the foods. While I waited for my hotdog, I sipped my beer and looked at the wall with the gig posters. Down at the very bottom, far out of the gazing eye of the average looker was a poster for Windhand. I dig ‘em and have been listening to them a lot. Especially while I’ve been writing one particular project. I would love to see them live and here was my chance.

I looked at the date on the poster and it sounded familiar. A quick glance at my phone revealed the reason why, it was that very day. Not only that, but with a quick glance back at the poster and my basic math skills, I realized the doors were opening in eighteen minutes.

Our food probably wouldn’t be at our table in that time. We’d also have to go back home and take care of the dogs. Then catch a bus back downtown. Sometime in that amount of time we would have to buy tickets as well. For me, that was just enough logistical effort to pass up on the deal.

My wife, knowingly laughed at the defeat we were about to experience. She was down to go, but she knew, and was willing to admit before I was, that we were not going to go. We can be spontaneous, but this was a little out of our wheelhouse. Wanna go get some ice cream? Okay! Wanna go get a beer? Alright! And come home stumbling drunk? Wasn’t on my radar, but sure*! Wanna go to the library? Hell yeah! Wanna go to a doom metal concert that probably starts within an hour, still need to get food, eat food, take the dogs out, buy tickets, get there and may miss the opening act? Hmmm.

We didn’t go. Heck, we didn’t even try to go. I think I’d even forgotten about it by the time we got home. We took the dogs for a good walk and talked about comic books and graphic novels instead.

 


Next time Windhand, next time.

*Once or twice a year.

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Newspaper Horoscopes: Premium Disappointment

Horoscopes, who doesn’t get a kick out of reading them? The other day one of my friends, Hairdevil Pennysworth, brought in two newspapers. These weren’t the kind that are desperately thrust into hands at train stations with the promise of going home once the stock is depleted. These were of the rare kind that are desperately thrust into hands at train stations, but other schmoes had to pay money for. That’s right! Hairdevil Pennysworth brought in real newspapers that he didn’t have to pay a dime for.

We have a faux-tradition in the cube, where we sporadically read the horoscopes out loud. All while having fun bending and forcing something into being explained by the horoscope. Plus, it’s always a good time to know how far off they are. None of us are believers. However, we all believed that reading ‘scopes from premium newspapers was going to be quite the experience. With this much money, these ‘scopeists must have a direct line to Jupiter, Hell, or wherever?
Instead, something else happened. Something that left me with a negative feeling, a case of the Williams. It was kind of like when I was a kid around Christmas time and I would see two Santa Clauses in the same day. That always threw me for a loop. Made me question the big man’s existence. Why was one skinnier than the other, why did one have a fake beard, and why did one look cheap? My parents tapped danced around many questions like this.

“Tonight the sex will be abundant!” One of horoscope columns said. “So much passion you better wear cargo pants to carry it all!” While the other was all, “Finances, jobs and education.” Clearly the former was more fun to read. Regardless, how could there be such a huge discrepancy in the horoscopes? How could one see us having tons of passionate sex – separately, in our respective private lives? While at the same time the other was seeing us going back to school, experiencing career growth, and retooling our finances.  Are the stars that far out of unalignment? How could the heavens be so withholding of secrets?

What are people who enjoy horoscopes, who believe them, supposed to do? Just pick the nutter who sews theirs oats and turns their knobs? If knob turning isn’t their thing do they go with the milder and more finance and career aligned astrologist? Do they throw caution to the wind and mix both together and become a stripper who dresses as a teacher or investment banker?

If anyone has any insight, please let me know.

Pulled Out of A Nose Dive

There was a time when I used to say that Friday was the most awesome day of the week. People would look at me funny. I knew what they were thinking, “But we are at work.” They had a point. However, I always thought of Friday as some of the final moments of Die Hard 2 where John McClane kicks somebody into a freakin’ jet engine. In my metaphor, that somebody is the work week.

That wasn’t how this Friday went down, not in the least. I showed up early to get a few things done. This only enraged my computer who decided that it was high time for my hard drive to quit working. So, I sat there while some guy held my hopes and dreams in his hands. He worked tirelessly to clone my hard drive, but my hard drive was having none of it. Which was kind of what I suspected would happen. In fact, I kind of wonder why there is even an option to clone. It never seems to work.

Anyway, sometime between me sitting there and getting the final word my drive was hosed, I received a phone call from my wife. Apparently, there was a leak in our place and the plumber had to get in immediately. I packed up the dogs, dumped gasoline all over my desk and pitched a match at it. Once again this is a metaphor.

The leak was by our main shut off valve in the entryway closet. We were made aware of its presence by the water stain appearing on our downstairs neighbor’s ceiling. However, we are still trying to figure out if any walls or flooring in the closet needs to be replaced. We have tried to help the situation by having a fan blowing into the closet all weekend long.

Despite how Friday went, the rest of the weekend turned out pretty well. My wife took me out for dinner and a donut Friday evening. On Saturday we had a little BBQ in honor of Jacoby. I called it, a JacoBBQ or JaBarbeCoby. I could never make up mind. I squeezed in 11K this morning and had lunch in the park with my wife and dogs. We also went for a walk in our old neighborhood which I have always found to be very therapeutic.

Vancouver is gorgeous in the spring. It is basically the only time of year that I totally don’t care about the ludicrous cost of living or incessant douchebaggery. Almost everything is green and the cherry blossoms are blooming. There is still enough rain to knock the smog out of the sky and give everything a rinse. To top it all off, Jake sat by me on the patio’s loveseat the entire time I wrote this. I think the only way this moment could be ruined is if Andrew Dice Clay kicked in my door in Delta Force style and gave me a subpoena. “You’ve been served. Ooooohhh!”