go to the show
There was this super smart kid I went to college with. He said that if you stay home there is a 100% chance you’re not going to see a pretty girl walk by. The pretty girl likelihood went up infinitely by simply putting yourself out there. Now, that girl wasn’t going to talk to you. Or give you the time of day. But, she only existed in a world that was outside your shitty college apartment.
I met that girl tonight. she drunk leaned on me outside of ruthie’s keyhole tavern at uber thirty when the guy who she met at the wedding was being too demanding. Win! Chalk one up for the good guys. She told him that she and I were dating. He asked her what my name was. My uber came.
Scoreboard. Drunk girl/pretty girl walking past/leaning on me 1. If I had stayed home. Nothing.
And to think I almost stayed home. Good god, what is wrong with me?
3 years ago this week my then girlfriend had a birthday. That’s fun. Except I had broken up with her. I birthday dated her anyway and for that infraction I have put myself in time out for a solid three years. bad dating decisions. That’s my bread and/or butter. Maybe just pump the brakes matt. Let’s be a dad and work all the time and I don’t know.
The time out was possibly a good choice. I have zero clue how to pick a girl that fits my unique brand of a mess and also awesome, so I pick whoever is right there. The girl I work with. The other girl I work with. The girl I met at the bar. None of the above worked out so the Darwin theory of stupidity left me with the concept that I needed to just stay the fuck home. Get that job where I do my own thing. No co-workers. No problem. Stop going to the bar so that I can’t make alcohol based decisions.
Three years of the lonely ensued. I mean. It’s probably been good for the kids. my head isn’t fucked by the girls I didn’t meet. But, I can’t say I’ve loved being in an exclusive 3 year relationship with whatever mainstream nonsense Netflix puts out.
Fuck yeah I watched the entire third season of Goliath (amazon prime admittedly) in the first 24 hours it was out. but, later today I only kept watching the old-timey movie Blackout because the acting was so bad that I was 90% sure it was actually a porno.
It wasn’t.
But, I’m missing the point here. The point isn’t mainstream nonsense. The point isn’t living this god damned reclusive life that I’ve been getting up to for three years running. The point is go to the show.
I had a choice tonight. keep working my ass off. Or get out of the house. Did I know anyone going to the show? Fuck no. did I talk to anyone at the show? Why yes. The bartender and I are besties. Anyone else? Not so much.
Oh my god. But, even before that. Way back when I was sober. I got in my lyft on the way to the show. The dude opened the backseat passenger door for me, as if to say I wasn’t welcome in the front. The backseat had a weird seat cover that had me convinced he was a serial killer a la Dexter.
Nope. He was just a Christian music aficionado. He freely admitted that he was a groupie for a Christian band I’d never heard of. But, I could talk stories. I know my Christian music from the time I spent in the cult of young life.
Our venn diagram intersected at Russ Taff. Who? The mother fucker whose t-shirt I bought at the concert I went to in high school. Uber man only wanted to talk about the struggles russ has had with his faith of late.
Fuck that. Life is not about pointing fingers. Life is about “I’m fucked up”. And talking stories. The dude wanted to tell me about how he shocks his uber passengers when he plays Tobymac, who apparently is the Christian hit maker with an edge. Umm. No. you don’t.
It’s weird though, because I’ve lived that guys life. You can be funny AND Christian. That was my life’s work from ages 18-22. Shocking. Yeah that or you can actually listen to other people’s stories. And you’ll hear heartache and pain that make being funny and/or Christian insignificant.
I got a message this week from a friend who said she’s drowning. She wanted to talk to someone real. how the fuck did I become that? Someone who broke out of the plastic world of evangelical christianity and became a real boy?
I don’t know. but, I do know that I got sick and tired of having to play a part. Of having to fit in. or act okay. I am not fucking okay. And that’s okay. Just breathing is good. Just getting through a day is a win.
And I had my arms raised in a V (victory formation, only gettable to the three people who read that old blog post about TI) tonight as I walked in my house. Good god what a night.
And it started with me not working. I went to a show. And Half Moon Run was fucking fantastic. When you have a choice. Stay home. Or go to the show. Go to the fucking show.
I don’t care if it’s dinner theatre. Or an arena show. Or an art exhibit. Someone is putting themselves out there. Give them credit. It’s hard to do. So appreciate them for being real. for being an artist. For being something other than average.
Half moon run is a Canadian band. That sell out big venues back home. But, tonight they played a shit hole in KC in front of no more than 100 people. Props to them. That is fucking brilliant. They brought it. they write well. They’re fun.
And the only reason I even know them is because they opened for Of Monsters and Men at crossroads a few years ago. go see the opener. Everyone used to be an opener. Check them out. it’s yet another human being chasing dreams. Putting words to music. Opening themselves up to rejection.
This whole night has been akin to that for me. Maybe I don’t stay home so much because I need to be responsible and work as much as I just don’t want to get rejected again. Yes, pretty girls don’t walk by when I don’t go out. but also, I don’t get gutted when things don’t work out with said pretty girl.
So, I opened myself up to rejection tonight. and killed it. I got rejected at every step. Not really, but I did kill it in the sense that I got out of the house. I’ll get back to being me. Some day. I’ll get my confidence back.
God damn I miss going to work and having people be happy to see me. To make a joke and have someone other than me laugh. I’m not meant to be isolated. I’m not meant to not write. To not create.
Random lyric from the band tonight “truth can be your wealth”. I fucking love that. That shouldn’t be a commodity. But, in the usa in 2019, truth just isn’t a thing. Alternative facts and fake news aren’t reality, unless you wear a red hat. and art/truth is not red hatted.
But, even beyond that. Everything has to have a filter. Has to be insta-worthy. But, man we can still be creative. We can still be artists. Write something. Play something. Sing something. Or get out and support those who do.
Open mic night. Oh shit. So, I walked from the riot room down memory lane. Saw some spots from my past and ended up at the Westsider. It was grateful dead cover band night. I paid a $5 cover to some guy who I’m pretty sure didn’t actually work there.
But, the scene itself was brilliant. Everyone had tye-dye on. And danced their little hearts out. who cares what the art is or who doesn’t get it…it just matters to the people who get it. and to that crowd, that band was the tits. It was fucking beautiful.
I took a Lyft from there and my driver couldn’t stop talking about bruce springsteen and his niece who loves shawn mendes. Fuck yes. Love who you love. Neil diamond. Rodriguez. Nickleback. I don’t care. There are other people who love what/who you love. And even if no one else does, god bless you for loving them and the artist for deciding to put themselves out there.
My buddy texted me tonight about a show he went to saying, “I really wanted to just hear music burn through a room for a change.” Yep. The live performance. It’s unlike anything else.
I spend 90% of my non-kid waking hours glued to the Netflix. Some of it is great. Most of it is shit. But, god love the actors and the writers and the creators of the content. They’re cool. But, man…when you can have a live interaction with a songwriter…getchu some.
It’s the truth. It’s authentic. As my springsteen loving driver said tonight, “just enjoy the moment. Don’t get your phone out to record it.” I love that. And I hope my kids get that. Insta-likes isn’t the real. heartfelt moments are what matters.
I was thinking back tonight on all the crazy conversations I’ve had with bartenders and waitresses and uber drivers. The uber driver who rejected all rides as he told me the story about a baby escaping her crib to pull on his “trousers” when he was about to commit suicide after I shared my near death experience.
Or the lady who sat and chatted for a long while in the drive of my hotel in st louis after frank turner made me cry. Or the waitresses I met once who make me smile every time I see them have success on the facebooks.
God damn. It’s coming. It’s fucking coming. I’ve been so isolated. And so down. And so not myself. But, tonight was beautiful. Someone smiled at me. And uber drivers took to me. And bryan told me he saw the facebook where I was worried about blake making the soccer team.
I shared laughs. And recipes for the best Christian musician. And heard a band or two. And couldn’t wait to get home to write. Every day we have the choice. Stay home and be boring. Or go to the show. Man. Come on. Get off your ass and go to the show.
I met that girl tonight. she drunk leaned on me outside of ruthie’s keyhole tavern at uber thirty when the guy who she met at the wedding was being too demanding. Win! Chalk one up for the good guys. She told him that she and I were dating. He asked her what my name was. My uber came.
Scoreboard. Drunk girl/pretty girl walking past/leaning on me 1. If I had stayed home. Nothing.
And to think I almost stayed home. Good god, what is wrong with me?
3 years ago this week my then girlfriend had a birthday. That’s fun. Except I had broken up with her. I birthday dated her anyway and for that infraction I have put myself in time out for a solid three years. bad dating decisions. That’s my bread and/or butter. Maybe just pump the brakes matt. Let’s be a dad and work all the time and I don’t know.
The time out was possibly a good choice. I have zero clue how to pick a girl that fits my unique brand of a mess and also awesome, so I pick whoever is right there. The girl I work with. The other girl I work with. The girl I met at the bar. None of the above worked out so the Darwin theory of stupidity left me with the concept that I needed to just stay the fuck home. Get that job where I do my own thing. No co-workers. No problem. Stop going to the bar so that I can’t make alcohol based decisions.
Three years of the lonely ensued. I mean. It’s probably been good for the kids. my head isn’t fucked by the girls I didn’t meet. But, I can’t say I’ve loved being in an exclusive 3 year relationship with whatever mainstream nonsense Netflix puts out.
Fuck yeah I watched the entire third season of Goliath (amazon prime admittedly) in the first 24 hours it was out. but, later today I only kept watching the old-timey movie Blackout because the acting was so bad that I was 90% sure it was actually a porno.
It wasn’t.
But, I’m missing the point here. The point isn’t mainstream nonsense. The point isn’t living this god damned reclusive life that I’ve been getting up to for three years running. The point is go to the show.
I had a choice tonight. keep working my ass off. Or get out of the house. Did I know anyone going to the show? Fuck no. did I talk to anyone at the show? Why yes. The bartender and I are besties. Anyone else? Not so much.
Oh my god. But, even before that. Way back when I was sober. I got in my lyft on the way to the show. The dude opened the backseat passenger door for me, as if to say I wasn’t welcome in the front. The backseat had a weird seat cover that had me convinced he was a serial killer a la Dexter.
Nope. He was just a Christian music aficionado. He freely admitted that he was a groupie for a Christian band I’d never heard of. But, I could talk stories. I know my Christian music from the time I spent in the cult of young life.
Our venn diagram intersected at Russ Taff. Who? The mother fucker whose t-shirt I bought at the concert I went to in high school. Uber man only wanted to talk about the struggles russ has had with his faith of late.
Fuck that. Life is not about pointing fingers. Life is about “I’m fucked up”. And talking stories. The dude wanted to tell me about how he shocks his uber passengers when he plays Tobymac, who apparently is the Christian hit maker with an edge. Umm. No. you don’t.
It’s weird though, because I’ve lived that guys life. You can be funny AND Christian. That was my life’s work from ages 18-22. Shocking. Yeah that or you can actually listen to other people’s stories. And you’ll hear heartache and pain that make being funny and/or Christian insignificant.
I got a message this week from a friend who said she’s drowning. She wanted to talk to someone real. how the fuck did I become that? Someone who broke out of the plastic world of evangelical christianity and became a real boy?
I don’t know. but, I do know that I got sick and tired of having to play a part. Of having to fit in. or act okay. I am not fucking okay. And that’s okay. Just breathing is good. Just getting through a day is a win.
And I had my arms raised in a V (victory formation, only gettable to the three people who read that old blog post about TI) tonight as I walked in my house. Good god what a night.
And it started with me not working. I went to a show. And Half Moon Run was fucking fantastic. When you have a choice. Stay home. Or go to the show. Go to the fucking show.
I don’t care if it’s dinner theatre. Or an arena show. Or an art exhibit. Someone is putting themselves out there. Give them credit. It’s hard to do. So appreciate them for being real. for being an artist. For being something other than average.
Half moon run is a Canadian band. That sell out big venues back home. But, tonight they played a shit hole in KC in front of no more than 100 people. Props to them. That is fucking brilliant. They brought it. they write well. They’re fun.
And the only reason I even know them is because they opened for Of Monsters and Men at crossroads a few years ago. go see the opener. Everyone used to be an opener. Check them out. it’s yet another human being chasing dreams. Putting words to music. Opening themselves up to rejection.
This whole night has been akin to that for me. Maybe I don’t stay home so much because I need to be responsible and work as much as I just don’t want to get rejected again. Yes, pretty girls don’t walk by when I don’t go out. but also, I don’t get gutted when things don’t work out with said pretty girl.
So, I opened myself up to rejection tonight. and killed it. I got rejected at every step. Not really, but I did kill it in the sense that I got out of the house. I’ll get back to being me. Some day. I’ll get my confidence back.
God damn I miss going to work and having people be happy to see me. To make a joke and have someone other than me laugh. I’m not meant to be isolated. I’m not meant to not write. To not create.
Random lyric from the band tonight “truth can be your wealth”. I fucking love that. That shouldn’t be a commodity. But, in the usa in 2019, truth just isn’t a thing. Alternative facts and fake news aren’t reality, unless you wear a red hat. and art/truth is not red hatted.
But, even beyond that. Everything has to have a filter. Has to be insta-worthy. But, man we can still be creative. We can still be artists. Write something. Play something. Sing something. Or get out and support those who do.
Open mic night. Oh shit. So, I walked from the riot room down memory lane. Saw some spots from my past and ended up at the Westsider. It was grateful dead cover band night. I paid a $5 cover to some guy who I’m pretty sure didn’t actually work there.
But, the scene itself was brilliant. Everyone had tye-dye on. And danced their little hearts out. who cares what the art is or who doesn’t get it…it just matters to the people who get it. and to that crowd, that band was the tits. It was fucking beautiful.
I took a Lyft from there and my driver couldn’t stop talking about bruce springsteen and his niece who loves shawn mendes. Fuck yes. Love who you love. Neil diamond. Rodriguez. Nickleback. I don’t care. There are other people who love what/who you love. And even if no one else does, god bless you for loving them and the artist for deciding to put themselves out there.
My buddy texted me tonight about a show he went to saying, “I really wanted to just hear music burn through a room for a change.” Yep. The live performance. It’s unlike anything else.
I spend 90% of my non-kid waking hours glued to the Netflix. Some of it is great. Most of it is shit. But, god love the actors and the writers and the creators of the content. They’re cool. But, man…when you can have a live interaction with a songwriter…getchu some.
It’s the truth. It’s authentic. As my springsteen loving driver said tonight, “just enjoy the moment. Don’t get your phone out to record it.” I love that. And I hope my kids get that. Insta-likes isn’t the real. heartfelt moments are what matters.
I was thinking back tonight on all the crazy conversations I’ve had with bartenders and waitresses and uber drivers. The uber driver who rejected all rides as he told me the story about a baby escaping her crib to pull on his “trousers” when he was about to commit suicide after I shared my near death experience.
Or the lady who sat and chatted for a long while in the drive of my hotel in st louis after frank turner made me cry. Or the waitresses I met once who make me smile every time I see them have success on the facebooks.
God damn. It’s coming. It’s fucking coming. I’ve been so isolated. And so down. And so not myself. But, tonight was beautiful. Someone smiled at me. And uber drivers took to me. And bryan told me he saw the facebook where I was worried about blake making the soccer team.
I shared laughs. And recipes for the best Christian musician. And heard a band or two. And couldn’t wait to get home to write. Every day we have the choice. Stay home and be boring. Or go to the show. Man. Come on. Get off your ass and go to the show.
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