Sidewalk

I suppose I did what I did just so I could ask myself why I was doing what I was doing. Beleaguered, road-worn but not lost. No, never lost; always sure of a destination, if not a direction. One day, these hills will be full of spies and thieves. Look up, boy. Look up! There's a whole world beyond the second story that you have missed, which I am missing now. Don't take my sidewalk from me.

Frustrations and Solutions

How do I take this band to the next level? Our name is practically synonymous with rock and roll here in San Francisco (most of it, at least), but it’s falling so flat that we can hardly bring 15 people out to a show. It’s bizarre! Everybody in the city knows of the band, but none come out to see us.

We’re writing right now, really good music. So that’s something. But I really feel like we are wasting our time. How the hell are we going to get famous/known/picked up by a label if we stay put? I hate that hometown hero shit. I’m a blues guitar player: I belong on the road. So many groups come through the city and pass us by because they’re willing to take that leap of faith and hit the pavement. They know that sitting about at home, working like a normal person won’t provide them with the contacts they need to make it. How rock and roll is that anyway?!

I’ve got to get out of this city. I’ve realized now that the purpose of that was not to get away from Kurt and Benjamin but to take those cats with me. So I mention this and they are in agreement, but (there’s always a fucking “but”) they can’t just pick up and leave. They have stuff. They need storage. They want to find a way to not have to worry about their rent while they’re away (in some kind of strange belief in coming back. It’s obvious to me they’ve never done this before. One never goes back.). So Ben says that we should get his friend from San Diego to move up here to San Francisco, find a house that we can all rent together, find three roommates to cover us while we’re gone, and then hit the road. Really?! Good Christ – that could take a year!

As far as I’m concerned, we haven’t got a year. I’d rather die on the road, with a guitar in my hand and a song in my heart, than waste away at home, eventually giving up because I never found the courage to leave. If this was easy, everybody would do it. Hobbyists can learn to play as well as we do. The great ones forsake everything else in life for the pursuit of a dream. The joy is in the hunt. When one has succeeded, then one can get old and fat and lazy and make excuses for oneself.

There are only two ways to go about this. The real way: Fuck all that stuff you’re worried about losing. What has it done for you? Keep the most important: the trinkets that remind you of who you are in dark times, sell the most sought after, give the rest to someone who actually needs it. Then throw all that’s left (it should be able to be carried in one trip, though being a musician does offer some leniency in this respect) in the van and start fucking driving. No savings to fall back on, no home to return to, no dream of ever being able to do anything than what you’re doing on the stage tonight. You book the next shows from the van, keeping up your public profile, and the only time you ever see your home again is when you pass through on tour.

Then there’s a solution I came up with; a weaker way, but one that might interest them: Get rid of most of the stuff. Sell what you can live without, but some amount of packratting is allowed. Move out of your apartment (that’s holding you down anyway) and bring that stuff to my house. There is plenty of space in my room for three men’s left-behinds. Seeing as how I have the safest location and cheapest rent, the three of us throw down every month on renting my room and you can always rest assured that all that shit you were afraid to lose is safe, sound, and waiting anxiously for your return, at which time you can move in to some other grossly overpriced lodgings.

Letter to Rolling Stone

So I read the article in April 28^th’s Rolling Stone about “the most hated girl on the internet,” and I have to say, “Really?” I can’t tell if I’m more blown away by the fact that I am supposed to feel sorry for the family who is claiming to be terrorized by a bunch of teenagers who are posting hateful comments on their scenester daughter’s multiple webpages or the fact that this shit is really happening.

First of all, no parent should allow a fourteen-year-old girl to post provocative photos and videos of herself online. This goes way beyond personal freedom; it’s straight-up exploitation, either allowed, encouraged or simply unchecked. Can you honestly tell me that a fourteen-year-old girl doesn’t know anything about sex or, as she claims in the article, doesn’t know what masturbation is? You must be joking.

If this family was honest about their lives being ruined by their daughter’s sudden and supposedly undesired fame, they would have changed their name and moved far away from Florida by now in order to escape this humiliating limelight. And not only that, they wouldn’t be allowing the kid to continue posting videos of herself dancing in her underwear all over the internet! It’s madness. The fact is that this family loves being a celebrity and that pitiful sob-story is their legacy.