20020130
Last night's practice consisted of setting our gear back up, warming up on Justice for the Unjust, and jamming badly on several atonal themes. None of us except Phil seemed very motivated to play. Afterwards we went to Taco Bell. It was the last night they had bean burrito and crunchy taco combos for 98 cents. We ordered four of them.
In addition to Dirtbike I'm in a Rage Against the Machine cover band. Our first gig is on February 20th at Brick by Brick, one of the few places in town I haven't played yet. The last time I was there I saw Fantomas. We talked with the opening DJ after the show and when we went outside to smoke he took my friend Dominic backstage and introduced him to Mike Patton and the rest of the band.
The main riff in Justice for the Unjust was written by Dominic several years ago when we were in a band called the Crotchety Nevilles. He wasn't doing anything with it so I lifted it verbatim and built a new song around it. There's probably some sort of Karmic-synchronistic-retribution going on here but I'm to tired to think about it right now.
20020128
Why don't YOU shut the fuck up, Aaron. You're a stinky little bitch who wouldn't have a musical pot to piss in if I didn't write amazing, revolutionary music for you to play. You're lucky I've chosen to shoulder the burden of the artist's life while you fritter away the days in engineering splendor, ass.
DIRTBIKE LIVE AT ROSIE O'GRADY'S 1/25/02:
We made $200 for the night. This works out to almost $67 an hour, after factoring the fifteen minute breaks in between each set, which in turn works out to almost $16.75 per hour, per person. That's four dollars and seventy-five cents more per hour than I make at my day job. I love music.
Phil broke three (3) strings throughout the course of the evening. We improvised as best we could each time it happened but I can't shake the uneasy feeling that we could have been better prepared for such a contingency. This feeling is aggravated by the suspicion that it wasn't Phil's fault and hence I should not be angry with him. Nevertheless I have always been good at supressing my intuition and as a result I have decided to blame everything that displeased me throughout the evening on Phil and his excessive string-breaking. I hate music.
Playing for four hours was surprisingly easy, all things considered. It was physically draining but I can definitely see us doing it again, especially if it continues to pay the bills. I love music.
It seems that now, more than ever, we are officially a "bar band" and as such the spoils of the occupation are ours to be had. I hate music.
Our friends thought we did a good job and everyone else in the bar seemed to like us. I love music.
20020123
Apparently even sooner than I thought.
I go to Souplantation almost every day for lunch. The company I work for has a deal with them so I get to eat a lot of salad and foccacia for only $6.47. Many of the people who work there know my first name. I speak broken Spanish to the Mexican employees. They seem to appreciate it.
The place was rather crowded today so after I filled my tray with Oriental Chicken Salad I headed for a seat outside. I put my tray on an empty table and went back in to get a few slices of garlic foccacia. When I came out I found that my tray had been moved to another table and in its place were the trays of two overweight middle-aged white women.
I pondered the situation for a moment, sat down, and pondered some more. Had I really put my tray down at that table? Had I merely contemplated putting my tray down at that table? Was it possible that they weren't the ones who had moved my tray? Of course not. Just look at them. I know the type...aging, unhappy, no eye contact with anyone around them, hushed voices, furtive, dishonest glances from side to side in between hurried mouthfuls of dead lettuce. Later on they will submit to a drunken sex act performed by their braindead, corporate-owned husbands. WHO THE FUCK DO THEY THINK THEY ARE?
I felt that I should say something. Not in an attempt to change them or as some sort of disciplinary action. I just wanted them to know that I KNEW what they had done and that they should think about me before ever doing something like that again. I've yelled at old ladies before; I could do it again. But then something in me broke. I knew confronting them directly would not be the right thing to do. When all else is said and done, I really didn't want to add to their misery. So I opened my book, Cosmic Trigger II, and began to eat. It could have ended there, but it didn't.
After a few bites of salad I got up and walked back into the restaurant. I grabbed a soupbowl and filled it with clam chowder, smiling at the lady behind the counter as I did so. "Mucha gente hoy," I said to her. "Si, y ahora hay uno mas", she replied. I smiled at her again and walked back outside. As I passed the table, my table, where the two older ladies were sitting, I paused and exhaled a loud, pungent fart.
After a minor uproar they left and I got my seat back.
Apparently it's on. Excellent. Melodrama is sure to follow.
Hello again. Just trying to get this thing to work while avoiding detection here at the office. I've already said too much.
20020121
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