...was kind of like trying to thread a needle while sitting on a moving roller coaster without drawing blood. It's not impossible -- it's just a stupid fucking idea.
My last few days in New Mexico were mostly bound in quarantine. I'm pretty sure I went through an entire package of toilet paper JUST from blowing my nose. Everyone in the house got sick...including my niece and my sister, who began feeling shitty on the day of her birthday.
Early in the month of March my friends from Albuquerque informed me that Shook Ones would be playing a few dates in Southern California with Have Heart during the first weekend of April. My friends were in the process of making plans to go on a road trip to attend all three dates...and apparently they were planning on driving to Las Cruces first in order to pick someone up. How could I resist the opportunity to return home crammed into a van with seven other people on what could be the greatest road trip of the entire year? I have no idea. That's why I decided to do it.
The Albuquerque kids showed up at my parents' house on Thursday morning, right after my parents left to take my sister and my niece to the airport in El Paso. We crammed all of my shit into the back of the mini-van and then drove to the university to pick up my best friend's cousin Vinnie. That's right...his cousin Vinnie.
Oh world, you're so ironic.
It was the greatest feeling ever once we got on the road. Interstate 10, apples and oranges, an epic Straight Edge Revenge sing-along every hour on the twenty-fourth minute, and a few hundred miles of desert. We jammed to so much pop rock between Las Cruces and Tucson, it felt like we were in a Panic at the Disco music video.
A few hours and at least a dozen stolen items later, we hit Tucson and dropped off my best friend so he could get a Burt Bacharach tattoo. Sickest idea ever. We stayed at a friend's house and I got to meet some awesome new people. I met a dog named Jack, which freaked me out, and a girl I have agreed to name a cat after. I told stories of my wonderful neighborhood and how I refuse to have packages delivered to my apartment ever again.
The night was young and several of us were still hungry, so we decided to grab a bite to eat at Del Taco. When we got back to the house, some creepy, homeless dude walked up to the van and tried to ask us politely where the nearest hospital was (or at least later on that's what I started saying he probably would have asked us). Vinnie happened to be behind the wheel when this happened and just before the man could say anything everyone started panicking. I really don't know why but I just started telling Vinnie to floor it, not thinking that he would actually do it. All of a sudden Vinnie pealed out and we took off with everyone screaming.
The following morning I woke up to rolled oats and good company. A cat named Sparrow suddenly appeared, and someone had to put it together for me that the cat's name was not an accident. Sue me for occasionally being slow on the blatant pop culture references. Anyway, we all crammed ourselves into the van plus one new member, and left with me missing a bit of Tucson...especially the part where my friends leaned out the window and started yelling, "FAGGOT" at people on the side of the road.
Several hours, a stop in Yuma, and at least a dozen stolen items later we were in the state of California listening to Under the Boards. We hit the San Diego freeways by late afternoon and mild rush hour traffic began to shit on us. At first we had trouble finding the Che Cafe, but luckily we found a student on campus who was probably trying to get to his car so that he could drive to a hospital and see his dying grandmother one last time. This dude was actually nice enough to stop and wait for us to pass him, do a sketchy u-turn and then drive back so that he could give us directions to the venue. To this day my best friend will probably claim that he could not hear us, but after the dude helped us out my best friend started rolling up his window as we pulled away and said, "thanks,...faggot."
All the while I was still sick, hoping I wouldn't end up spreading the plague to everyone else in the van. We got to the venue and piled out after several hours of sitting on ass. It was my first visit to the Che Cafe. I met a nice girl inside who was working behind the counter and yet failed to acquire digits or even a name! Sometimes I like to think I'm getting better at this, but I am probably not. My best friend from Albuquerque introduced me to a new friend -- a student at UCLA who coincidentally lives five minutes away from my roommate and I.
Oh world, how small you are.
Shook Ones opened up with a new intro and then pummeled us with Pheasant, a new song, and a few old classics. The room was so small and there were so many people. The rafters hanging from the ceiling were so low...how could I resist the full Che Cafe experience and NOT hang from them? I have no idea. That's why I decided to do it.
When I left the room I was half dead and came within an inch of just vomiting into a trash can. I sat out the rest of the show.
Later that night we got lost somewhere in the San Diego metropolitan area trying to find our hotel (which was paid for courtesy of one of my best friend's relatives). I'm not sure if I've met this lady but what she got us was fucking awesome. She set us up with a two-bed suite, a shower with a seat in it (all creepster), and the best view I've seen from a hotel room in at least ten years. If the fact that we snuck seven extra people into the room for free wasn't sketchy enough, one my friends nutted onto his own name in a bible that was left in the nightstand drawer. Way to up the punx.
The next day we parted ways with the student from UCLA and another friend (who went to the Bamboozle fest in Irvine) and made a trip to Pokez, a vegan friendly restaurant in downtown San Diego. If you're vegan and you haven't been there yet, then you are failing. We all decided to kill some time by checking out the coast in the San Diego area, so we drove up North to La Jolla. Oh, how I missed the beach...oh, how I missed the ocean...so, so much. It felt so good to finally be home. Fuck.
A few hours, an awkward baptism gathering, and several stolen items later we were parked across the street from the Pharaoh's Den in Riverside. Even though I had already been to the venue I had never bothered checking out the cafe right next to it, but fuck...sickest smoothies ever. I got my hipster status on and sat with my friends in a circle around a coffee table whilst all of us drank smoothies and Facebooked on our laptops. Ugh, I am such an asshole for explaining that.
Shook Ones rocked the house down yet again, and Trash Talk made snake blood pour from the ceiling. Have Heart managed to raise the temperature inside the venue to about 350 degrees Fahrenheit. During the second half of their set a few of my friends and I hung out in the cafe next door and at some point, I somehow grew the huevos to actually sit down and talk to a girl who I normally wouldn't have tried talking to in a million years. This ended up being sort of a highlight for me, seeing as how she didn't just get up and run away...even though she did make it clear that she was taken.
Oh world, how you fail to surprise me.
It was a long, exhausting drive to Redondo Beach (where I needed to pick up my car that was left at my sister's house before flying out to New Mexico) that lay ahead of us. We picked up my car and drove to Westwood to pick up our friend, who was still hanging out with the student from UCLA. He showed us around town at one in the morning and we ordered a pizza the size of a stop sign. Everyone was so tired at this point -- we drove back to my apartment and pretty much crashed instantly.
The next day everyone just hung out in the apartment. After a few hours all eight of us finally got ready and decided to hit up Masa in Echo Park, another vegan joint with really good pizza. Echo Park proved to be an incredibly confusing neighborhood, as I got completely lost for ten minutes trying to find the place. All frustration aside, I was pleasantly surprised once we actually got to Masa. The next place we visited was Amoeba in Hollywood. Feeling a little low on funds, I actually managed to keep my spending under eighty dollars this time. It was a good run on DVDs though, and the guy at the counter gave me kudos on picking out some decent classics.
But alas, it was time for my friends to return home...
We all parted ways in front of the Jack in the Box across the street from Amoeba. It was tough seeing everyone go, but I made sure to get some good hugs in there. The rest of April, surprisingly, was just a blur.
It felt so good to finally be home, especially after a month of living in New Mexico...but the lingering excitement from the road trip was far too much. I sat down and began writing again...which led to three new Onlooker songs in just a few days.
A week later one of my best friends from the Inland Empire came to visit my roommate and I in LA with his girlfriend. We caught up on things after having not seen each other for about two months. We laughed and laughed...we talked about how wonderful the job market has become in this failing economy. Kylesa was playing that night at the Echoplex in Echo Park, a venue located remarkably close to Masa, the vegan pizza joint I had eaten at a week prior. And so we got lost again...for about ten minutes.
Oh world, how history repeats itself.
The following weekend 108 played the Pharaoh's Den with Xibalba. Needless to say it was an awesome show...a show followed by a long overdue trip to Baker's. It felt good to be home again.
Over the next two and a half weeks I cranked out six new Onlooker songs and recorded them, completing a new album that I've been working on since June 2008. And if I stop for a minute and look at what I'm doing...I do occasionally wonder why I'm still doing it.
I've been writing and recording music for a band that I've wanted to start since the beginning of 2006. It's been so long now that the sound of the "band" is already changing and evolving into something almost completely different from what it was when I first began.
But I can't stop. And maybe I've failed to gain interest from the right people in this scene...or maybe I just haven't made a mark that I'm supposed to make in a giant world where I'm still tiny...a mark that I'm supposed to make before I can start turning heads and get some people to take a risk with me. I'm the only person making the sacrifices now...an investment in something that I still think could be amazing, but will potentially end up being a waste of my time. All the while I hit one dead end after another in my search for employment...an activity that has almost become more of a hobby in comparison to what I really wish I could do right now, which is create something that takes time, patience and dedication. Hence, the reference to a roller coaster seamstress...
I write music for two bands that belong out there on the road...not in this apartment.
That is the way I see it. But everyone appears to be so jaded here -- I don't know what else to do about it. So fuck everyone -- I'm just going to continue writing.
