Spring Training


You might think to yourself, “I’ve already heard this one before.” You’re probably right.

There are multiple angles that accompany each course of action. There are differing opinions at play. There are six ways to Sunday. There are a handful of expressions that ultimately say the same thing. It’s called paraphrasing.

I could write about the same topic(s) that someone else already wrote about, but I’ll stray from that path. Instead, this piece will be in my own words.

Please be warned, this week’s episode is not really a story. It’s just a series of non sequiturs. In the end, this whole performance could be deemed unattractive to some audience members.

I hope my findings will be music to your ears. Also, I hope you can see that this chapter is not a sprint; it’s a marathon. Furthermore, I hope you can realize that this is not a life sentence; it’s a lifestyle.

I won’t embellish because there’s no point in doing so. I’ll be upfront, honest, and forthright.

The truth is, is that I have an ailment. I’m only happy from April through October. Let it be known, I’m not getting married anytime soon. Nope —my only cure— it’s known as baseball season.

We’re not quite there yet, but we’re making progress. We’ve got to get in shape first. So, are you ready for a workout?

This tale begins on a Wednesday night in mid-February. It was Singles Awareness Day. It was around this time when the weather took a turn for the worse. Northern California experienced a cold snap. It happened instantly.

It was a school night, but I didn’t have any homework. I rolled solo. I found a vacant stool at the local watering hole. I ate tacos con carnitas. Then, I was on my way. I ended the night with a live rendition of songs about girls, drinking, and utter hopelessness.

See, you have no idea what it’s like. It’s cold, and I’m alone.

“It’s still cold!” I exclaimed as I turned the corner at Lakeshore and E. 18th Street. It was nearly 1AM. Andy was on the other end of the cellular telephone. We had been playing phone tag all week.

“What kind of music is Jeff Rosenstock, anyhow?” Andy inquired.

“I don’t know. ‘Stoner rock?” I suggested.

The problem is, is that Millennials simply don’t call one another anymore; the call has to be scheduled. It has to be planned ahead of time, kind of like a cold-weather wardrobe.

Typically, I don’t plan for such an outfit. I just wear layers, when necessary. However, it wasn’t enough this week. I’m still shivering. Believe you me, it’s frigid out there.

So, I ate soup on Monday to stay warm. I had miso pork ramen, coupled with a generous helping of Japanese whiskey. Then, I made my way to The New Parish. I saw the American Dream on display. Rest assured, my friends, it is alive and well.

On Tuesday afternoon, I sought shelter at the cinema. I avoided the inclement weather for two hours and fifteen minutes. At the concession stand, I ordered a “Junior Popcorn” alongside a “Medium Coke.” I watched Black Panther. I liked the message it brought forth, but I’m not really a comic book guy. Oh well.

After the flick, I tried calling Andy. He didn’t answer. I walked to Luka’s. I got the salmon for dinner. After I finished eating, I just didn’t know if there were any other fish left in the sea.

Wednesday night it was Parquet Courts, which really is just a fancy way of saying “hardwood floors.” It’s like a basketball court, or perhaps the sticky surface at The Fillmore.

Wednesday morning was cold. Again. You already know this. Work was suffocating, to say the least. I wanted soup again. More ramen. I would go to Japantown later that evening (because I believe that I have a growing affinity for Japanese culture).

I couldn’t find what I was looking for, though; so, I went to Harry’s instead. They had Olympic figure skating on the tube. “What a bore,” I thought to myself. Then I forwarded some nonsensical observations to a handful of acquaintances on a dedicated, group text thread. “This isn’t very cutting-edge,” I said. “When do the Dubs play again?” Nobody answered (until the next day).

I thought I ordered a Cuban sandwich; turns out, I ordered a pulled pork panini. Oh well. It hit the spot. After all, I was dazed and quite famished. I blamed it on the weather.

I ate slowly because I am discovering that eating slowly is more satisfying. I find that the flavors really take shape over the course of a drawn-out meal.

After the concert let out, the crowd dispersed. We moved slowly down the dual staircase. Along the way, we were treated to red delicious apples. Upon exiting, we received a complimentary event poster.

On Thursday morning, I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t feel like myself. Nevertheless, I mustered up the strength to go out again. After all, this whole thing is a grind. As a matter of fact, this whole thing is called Noise Pop. On Thursday night, Noise Pop resurfaced at Great American Music Hall. When all was said and done, it was apparent:

  • (1) The Hotelier are reminiscent of Brand New, and
  • (2) Jeff Rosenstock – well, he can really paint a picture.

But, Noise Pop is not really a music festival, per se. It’s just a weeklong series of heavily-sponsored, overpriced shows. Some of the artists are at the forefront of being considered “cool,” while others acts are more established.

Noise Pop is not South By Southwest, by any means. It’s just a primer. There’s no BBQ, either. It’s not (how) CMJ (used to be). They’re no pretentious, rooftop mixers. It doesn’t resemble The FEST whatsoever. At Noise Pop, attendees actually go to their technology jobs during the day. The amps are only plugged in when the sun sets.

By Friday, I was done (with Noise Pop). I opted for Dead To Me. They would play later that evening at Brick & Mortar Music Hall, which is really just a subpar venue in my humble opinion. Oh well.

This show was different. It was sponsored by Punks, Incorporated (i.e. the working class). Admission was 13 bones. Rolling Rocks (bundled with well whiskey shots) went for 10 buckaroos. Meanwhile, this was my fourth show in five nights. Some might call it plain irresponsible. I call it “Spring Training.”

On Sunday morning, I found myself outside in the cold. Again. I wrote this anecdote at my desk at my place of employment, with the intent of not using any direct quotes. Without a doubt, every action has been paraphrased. These words are my own. These (first-world) problems are my own, too.

Hey, what can I tell you? I like a good challenge every now and then.

As always, I like to end every narrative accordingly. This one is bound to have a Hollywood ending.


Rest Of My Life


“I used to do this, too. Those were the best years of my life,” said the well-to-do businessman from Dallas, Texas.

“When I went to school, I worked as a bellman. What are you going to school for?” the middle-aged gentleman inquired, as I escorted him to the suite so he could deliver a bouquet of flowers.

Why do people assume? Nobody knows anything about me. You only know what I tell you. Furthermore, nobody knows what’s in store. We can only speculate.

This is Part III. This is the end (of the saga). It’s like the third rendition of The Godfather, but not nearly as epic. We’ll tie up some loose ends, and then we’ll turn the page. We’ll move on (to greener pastures). I hope you’ve you got your seatbelt on because it’s going to be a long, bumpy ride. It’ll last you a lifetime.

This (disjointed) anecdote begins after it ends. It opens up on a Sunday morning in early February. I arrived at work at 6:54am. I clocked in, activated my walkie-talkie, and gathered the keys.

From the valet stand, I admired the scenery. It looked like California in February, but it felt like “California In July.” It had been unseasonably warm for the past two weeks. The hills begged for rain. A handful of cars sped by on the freeway. The BART train ran on twenty-minute intervals. It was just another day in suburbia.

I took a sip of coffee. Then, I took another sip. Then, I got another cup of coffee. Then, I talked to my colleague for a bit. Then, there was a rush (of people coming and going in their respective directions). Then, we stood around and chatted some more. At 3:07pm, I checked out (for the day).

Let me tell you, this wasn’t a typical Sunday. It was a Super Sunday; but, the departing guests weren’t handing out extraordinary gratuities. The tips were fairly meager, in fact. I thought to myself, What’s Goin’ On?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t the plan from the get-go. What can I say? I was born with a silver spoon. But, people keep telling me, “There’s a silver lining in everything.”

I’m jaded, so jaded.”

I’ve seen too much. I haven’t done enough. This performance is outdated. I need a new routine. This is so dull. It’s so monotonous. It’s so predictable. It’s like watching the same movie over and over again and expecting it to end differently.

In Groundhog Day, Larry advises the gang to “Stay ahead of the weather;” now, I think I’m feeling under the weather.

So, I watched Groundhog Day again to regain equilibrium. Then, I watched it again. Then, I watched it once more. I’ll be watching Groundhog Day for the “Rest Of My Life.” And, I’ll be documenting my mental notes for the foreseeable future.

In the end, “Everything will be fine.” At least that’s what The Doc tells me.

But, Doc, what about the presence of randomness and disorder in the universe? Isn’t life a crapshoot?

Just to clarify, this is only a think piece, because I can only dream about the future. Nobody knows what’s going down; we can only test hypotheses. I can, however, promise you this: this chapter is littered with “FUD,” just like the crypto market as of late.

I learned how to play craps a couple weeks ago in Las Vegas. While playing this game (of chance), one must buy options (on a consistent basis) to better his/her odds of winning.

Everybody is alive until they’re not (i.e. when the designated roller rolls a “craps.”) So, buy as many options as you can in craps (and in life). Then, “Let It Ride.”

While we’re on the topic of gambling, let me pose a series of questions: Are you busy today? Are you feeling lucky? Do you want to place a bet?

How many people (do you think) will actually read this piece? I’m setting the over/under at 4.5. In other words, will five people find the time to read (and enjoy) this? If you say “yes,” you’ve bet the “over.” If you say “no,” you’ve bet the “under.” The payout is a free lunch.

The problem is, is that the house always wins. Moreover, you must know by now that “There is no free lunch.”

You probably missed out on Part I and Part II; so, I’ll get you up to speed.

  • I’m an asshole, but I’m also a nice guy.
  • I’m a morning person. I’m also not a morning person.
  • Sometimes I eat healthily; sometimes, I need to indulge.
  • I don’t understand women. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be alone. I do, however, know that the smarter ones are more attractive.
  • I will (undoubtedly) poke fun at you if you use the word “literally” incorrectly.
  • I took French in high school but never really did anything with it.
  • I saw Fall Out Boy open for Less Than Jake in 2003, but I didn’t think much of it.
  • I am the proud owner of an NYU Master’s degree. I also have a Great Lakes’ student loan repayment plan.
  • I got a C+ in Philosophy 101; I only know the basics of everything.
  • As a young’un, I struggled to grasp (Euclidean) geometric principles; now, I park cars for a living.
  • Last week, I walked to the bank with a bag of one-dollar bills in hand. I laughed all the way. Literally.

My life is a rerun. It’s the same thing every day. Every Day I Tell Myself I’m Going To Be A Better Person. That’s my mantra, my driving force. It’s also the title of a Misser album. Misser is the offspring of (the now-defunct) This Time Next Year.

Lately, I’ve been venting my frustrations. Last summer I met a girl named Christine. I thought we hit it off; ultimately, “She Didn’t Turn Out To Be That Cool.”

So it goes.

Hey, did you see the horror story on the nightly news last week? Also, did you hear that The Shell Corporation’s new record drops on March 2? It’s called Fucked. Here’s a teaser.

See, “We can’t keep it together; it’s all just falling apart,” says Daydream. While this finding is not (necessarily) revolutionary, it is pleasing to one’s ears. To me, it sounds like a mash-up of The Get Up Kids and Saves The Day.

Don’t you get it? We’re just living in the past. History repeats. Things are messed up. That’s just the world in which we live. So, just deal with it. Then, go ahead and listen to I Hate Kate, which is a Zebrahead spin-off. Then, try to figure out why I Hate Kate changed their name to Darling Thieves.

As for me, I’m going to do the best that I can. Nothing more, nothing less. Because there’s nothing we can do to prevent the inevitable. We’ve always been on the brink.

Businesses shutter. Trends fade. Bands break up. Empires collapse. People move on.

Likewise, trilogies come to an end. Now, it’s time to put this three-part episode to bed. Before doing so, I’d like to read a bedtime story. It’s called “This Is What We Need.”

It goes like this:

We need more positive energy. We need to carve out more time for yoga. We need to consume more kale. Most importantly, we need to be nicer to one another. Ya dig?

After all, it’s “Now or Never.”

Finally, we need to embrace the blockchain. It’s the future. The silver lining is in the technology.

While punk rock can be (overwhelmingly) self-deprecating, I feel like we’ve made some progress over the past month or so.

We learned that Unwritten Law sing the blues. We learned that Zebrahead are over-the-top. Plus, we learned that This Time Next Year were not groundbreaking; but, they were authentic and insanely catchy.

At the end of (the umpteenth viewing of) Groundhog Day, we learned two (very) important lessons:

On Friday, I welcomed Groundhog Day with open arms. Figuratively. See, it’s not really a widely, celebrated holiday on the West Coast. It’s just a movie to us folks out here.

The night before I had gone to the Bottom (Of The Hill) to hang with The Lillingtons, Western Addiction, and The Bombpops. Things were shaping up. The music was loud. The drinks were strong. And, we were blessed with an early Spring. It was a new beginning, and it was an ending to the third installment. Turns out, this (fragmented) story culminates before it commences.

That said, I hope that you’ve enjoyed our last three seminars. The next symposium will feature (a little band called) Dead To Me. Your homework assignment is to forget everything you know. Just leave it all behind.

I hope you join me for the (subsequent) adventure(s). If not, “Well [then], I’ll see you around…

Postcards From Hell


I judge the clientele at work (every day). It’s all speculation, really. I judge people based on their appearance, their demeanor, their tone of voice, and their style of delivery. I judge folks based on the cars that they drive. I make judgments based on vehicle cleanliness. I also judge individuals based on prior interactions.

These first impressions are everything. I make these snap decisions in an effort to save (my precious) time and to generate more dollar signs.

Sometimes, it works. Other times, it doesn’t. Sometimes, I’m profitable. Other times, I’m “stiffed.” Sometimes, I win. Other times, I lose. More often than not, “It’s a wash.”

Last weekend, I took a gamble. I went all in. I raised the stakes. I flew to Las Vegas. Call it a sabbatical. Call it a leave of absence. Call it whatever you’d like.

Hey, “Life’s a holiday,” don’t you know?

And, what transpires in the desert remains in the desert. That’s the slogan (in so many words). That’s the unwritten law. I’m sure you’ve heard it before.

But have you ever heard any of these excuses?

“Sorry, I only have a dollar on me,” says the day spa guest leaving in her beat-up Honda Accord.

“No worries,” I say, as I place the crumpled banknote in my back pocket.

 “Sorry, I only have big bills,” says Mr. Big Shot after a power lunch with a handful of executives.

“Well, I can make change for you,” says the (hard-working) valet, who is noticeably disheveled. It’s a blistering day outside. His shirt is untucked, and sweat is dripping from his forehead.

 “Thank you VERY MUCH and GOD BLESS!” exclaims the spirited young man as he closes the door of his luxury vehicle.

You’re welcome,” the parking attendant replies and looks on in astonishment.

 “Sorry, I don’t have any cash. I’ll get you next time,” says the barfly who only carries plastic.

“Well, when is ‘next time?’ ” I think to myself.

 “My husband comes here all the time. He’s a good tipper,” says the attractive soccer mom after a Thursday evening, happy hour date with her girlfriends.

 “Oh, okay. Sounds good,” says the handsome, automotive parking technician.

 “All I have is a twenty. Can I get 17 or 18 dollars back?” says the owner of the smelly, Toyota pickup truck.

Well, which is it? 17 or 18?” the valet inquires, in an effort to seek out some sort of clarity (in this crazy, fucked-up world).

I do this act for a living. And, this song is called “Living Hell.” And, this narrative is Part II (of III). It’s like the second installment of Back To The Future, except the cars are still on the ground.

So, what happens now?

Cause I’m bored

…And, I just can’t fake it anymore

I just can’t take it

And, I’ve heard it all before.

Please, tell me, what percentage of the population knows the standard amount to tip a valet? And, tell me, what percentage of the population is aware of blockchain technology?

And, please, “Tell Me Why” this song sounds like a mid-90s Bad Religion anthem? Well, let me tell you why: Greg Graffin produced the album! Who would’ve thought?

And, please, don’t tune me out (just) yet. After all, it’s party time!

In an effort to keep things interesting, I’ll go ahead and break the unwritten law (once again). These (comedic) bits and pieces (culled) from my Vegas vacation are not intended to mirror the Chevy Chase film of the same name. Instead, these recollections are my “Postcards From Hell.”

On Friday morning, I opted to make good decisions. I took BART to San Francisco International Airport (SFO). I arrived with plenty of time to spare. My flight was delayed. I had a coffee and a honey bran muffin. Turns out, I was in the “B” boarding group on my Southwest Airlines flight. However, I knew that this weekend jaunt would be an “A+.”

And, if you didn’t know, Las Vegas is often referred to as the “Disneyland for Adults.” Tourists can live like royalty. It’s a majestic city decorated with neon lights, and the cityscape is worthy of being the Eighth Wonder Of The World.

And, if you weren’t aware, Las Vegas is a (bottomless) pit. The town is a wasteland wafting with cigarette smoke. The ladies of the night generally work from 9pm – 5am. Meanwhile, the (degenerate) risk-takers flood the craps tables at all hours. They’re confident that tomorrow will be their lucky day.

And, Las Vegas Boulevard is neverending. It features a handful of overpriced, celebrity-endorsed eateries. “The Strip” also contains a handful of Walgreens. So, on Friday afternoon, we stopped in and stocked up on spirits, malted hops, and other accoutrements for pregame activities.

Later that night, we saw Unwritten Law at Beauty Bar on Fremont Street (in the heart of “Old Vegas”). Before heading downtown, I ate a burger (with Donkey Sauce) at Guy Fieri’s Vegas Kitchen at The Linq Hotel & Casino. Then I won some money while playing blackjack.

As Friday turned into Saturday, we meandered into to The Cromwell. We found a vacancy at the pai gow table. The Patriots fans on the opposite end were from Montana, and they were loud and obnoxious. But, we stayed because the waitress kept serving us complimentary cocktails.

So it goes.

On Saturday, the sky was the limit. I ate an overpriced New York steak at Delmonico. I finally got to see Paris. Then, I misplaced my dignity at Aria Resort & Casino.

On Sunday, I put my money on the Jags and the under. Then I bet on the Eagles and the over. The Devil told me to do it. I celebrated at In ‘N’ Out Burger. I ordered a “Double-Double” (with grilled onions), alongside “Animal Style” fries.

By Monday, the house was still standing. I had yet to bring it down. My flight back to the Bay didn’t depart until 4pm. So, I ordered a whiskey and Coke, and I placed odds on the six, eight, and nine. Then, the shooter rolled a seven. Who would’ve thought?

And that was that. McCarran International Airport (LAS) features an array of slot machines, but I wasn’t in the mood (at that point in time). And, the flight back was nothing to write home about, either. It never is. Coming home is refreshing, but it’s never as exhilarating as leaving town.

I got home, and I assessed my current state. I was out of sorts, to say the least. Then, I thought to myself, “I need a vacation.”


New Sensation


I hand out claim checks at work (every day). But, therein lies a problem. I find that people are averse to (additional) paperwork. Guests want to be remembered. Individuals want to be acknowledged (for their accomplishments).

Did you hear the news? We wrote more of the story. It’s an intriguing development, too. Turns out, I’m only human. I make mistakes. And, contrary to popular belief, I can only drive one car at a time.

Oh yeah, I should also mention that “Panic is my middle name.”

That’s right, I broke the unwritten law. I committed a faux pas. I overlooked the social standard within the Crypto community. I take (full) responsibility for this sequence of events.

I know, I know. I was supposed to “hodl.” But, I couldn’t stomach the thought of losing my (entire) investment.

I get it, okay? I can grasp what you’re thinking. You’re (probably) inclined to say, “He’s a liar. He’s a hypocrite. I thought he was a believer? He’s going to Hell.”

Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I would have to refute that notion (immediately). More often than not, “I’m Money.”

Sure, this time, I sold out. But, it’s like I never bought in with which to begin.

See, things aren’t that bad. I broke even. And, I can buy back in at any time!

Do you comprehend?

See, there was a crash. Nobody (and nothing) could rescue Mister Crypto on that fateful Tuesday morning. There was a bearish sentiment in the air. I didn’t see any shades of green, either. And, when the bloodbath had subsided, Bitcoin’s value fell more than 50%. Then, the audience forgot about Litecoin.

And, if you didn’t know this by now, well, now you know.

“Everything gets old, everyone is dumb

So, I keep changing

Everything is gay, everyone is fake

So, I can’t hang around.”

Hey, did you read about it yet? Ethereum is the talk of the town. To some, it’s just a name. To others, it’s a promising blockchain. Either way, this is some deep and profound shit. And, “This is some deep and profound shit” sounds like something Samuel L. Jackson would say. Would you agree?

And, “This time next year, ETH will be at 10k,” according to my degenerate friends. I love my friends. My friends keep me going.

The people in our lives are everything. And, everything takes time. And, everything else requires patience. But, time is money. And, money is omnipresent. It is everywhere. It is everything. It trumps everything else. It dictates our actions.

And, money generates greed. And, greed causes individuals and groups, along with teams and companies, and (once-) great nations to lose sight of the big picture.

But, money is a requirement. Still, money is evil. Some see money as a choice; while others see money as a tool. Money does not equal happiness, but it might make you happier on certain days of the week.

Take, for example, a Saturday afternoon in mid-January. I saw some old friends at The Knockout, which is a dive bar located in The Mission (district of San Francisco, California). We saw some live music (even though we can’t really see music, per se). I consumed some adult beverages. I spoke with my adult friends.

Reunions celebrated the release of their new EP. Daydream were quite good, and they just might be the “New Sensation.” Pkew Pkew Pkew were decent, but at the end of the day, they were simply a group of stand-up comedians (with instruments in hand).

Same thing, different day. Why do we opt to do the same thing over and over again? Don’t we grow tired of the same old shtick?

Ultimately, the process of (not) learning is a choice.

As for me, I have to write every day in order to be happy. However, this scenario isn’t possible (yet). It’s a time and money issue. After all, I need time to make money. And, I need money to make (more) money.

And, I need to experience live music for inspiration.

And, in case you’re living on another planet, this tale (and subsequent sequels) features This Time Next Year, a (pop-punk) band (from my hometown) that never made it. It also references Unwritten Law and Zebrahead, two alternative rock mainstays that garnered a decent amount of appeal in the late 90s and the better part of the Noughties (i.e. “the Aughts,” or “the 2000s”). Neither outfit is popular nowadays, but it’s my duty to make them matter.

And, this type of analysis might not be your thing. It might be contrary to your popular belief. Regardless, I hope you hold on for dear life. Furthermore, I hope you can acknowledge that blockchain technology is the future.

And, this piece is not a (crypto) swan song by any means. I’m just here to illustrate the frequency in which that term is used in modern music. Like here, and here, and here.

Finally, I’m here to remind you that life is short. You know, “It’s just a matter of time.”

So, remember to set your sights on something, anything. Otherwise, we’ll transform into zombies. In such instances, we’ll end up performing the same routine every day, just like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Then, eventually, things start to unravel.

So, craft a plan, and find some sort of nourishment to feed your passion.

As for me, I start small. I typically begin the day with a well-balanced breakfast.

Like last Saturday, when I made pancakes. Regrettably, the first batch was weak. The first batch is never good. That’s a given. The griddle is never hot enough. The second round was better, but not top-notch. The flapjacks finally took shape on the third attempt.

They say, “The third time’s the charm,” like the time I earned the (December 2017) “Star Of The Month” award at my place of employment. I had been nominated twice before, but never assumed the crown. Now, I’m king for a day – that is – until the next (month’s) winner is revealed.

Turns out, I’m a pretty good actor. And, it turns out that Bill Murray is a phenomenal actor. He touches on (just about) every human emotion on the second day of February.

See, Punxsutawney is Phil Connors’ Hell on Earth.

And, this is “The Hell That Is My Life.” I created it. And, now I reside in it.

Meanwhile, this is only the first installment of a three-part episode. They say, “The grass is always greener (on the other side).” And, I promise you; the subsequent chapters will be better than this one.

When all is said and done, I just want to leave my mark (in a world where it has all been done before).


How I Spent My Xmas Vacation


I’ve returned! Did you notice?

I’d like to begin by inserting the obligatory “Happy New Year!” clause. But this chapter is not a season’s greeting. This is a season finale.

I hope you’ve been well since our last powwow. And, I hope you join me for this holiday recap. If not, well then, feel free to carry on with your regularly scheduled activities.

In case you forgot, my name is Ian. On New Year’s Day, people also referred to me as hungover. Indeed, the night before, “[I] smoked myself stupid and drank my insides raisin dry.”

Ha. Ha. Ha. Or should I say, “Ho. Ho. Ho.

I know, I know. This is all so predictable. You were probably waiting for those bits all along.

Do you still have an appetite for these stories?

Are you tired of the same old routine?

Okay, so how will you change?

Good luck with all of your resolutions. I hope you find a manner in which to change your ways.

As for me, I’ll be just dandy. In 2018, I’m going to be brave. I’ll be more disciplined, too. And, in the process, I’ll try to form better habits. This year, I’m going to be more like Kevin McCallister.

I just wanted to make a really good post for the end of the year. I wanted to be more subtle than usual. I wanted to use fewer direct quotes. I wanted to deliver my words in a timely fashion. And, I wanted to leave a lasting impression on my audience.

I wanted to get off to a good start in 2018, but now I just want to take a hiatus.

On New Year’s Day, I crafted a plan. The next day, I returned to reality. Wednesday was the same. On Wednesday afternoon, I exchanged my Galaxy S6 for the Galaxy S8 Active. The battery on my S6 had died. On Thursday afternoon, I opted to buy some everyday, household furniture to fill in the gaps.

My apartment is bare, just like the inside of my car. I don’t like to leave items in plain sight. In doing so, the crooks are less inclined to break in.

However, on this particular Thursday evening, rain was in the forecast. I had just bought some books at Barnes & Noble. Then, I stopped at Lucky to grab some items for dinner. What transpired was not so fortunate, though.

The bag (which also included my 2018 Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar) was situated behind the driver’s seat. The suspect would have taken the bag (and the calendar, for that matter) if it had carried any value.

But, he/she didn’t take anything. After all, why would a criminal want to increase his/her intellectual capacity? Instead, Mr./Mrs./Miss/Ms. Thief left me with a shattered rear passenger window, a shit ton of broken glass, and a headache with which to deal.

Never again. I’ll never leave anything in plain sight. I don’t care about the car; it’s just a car. I mean, how can anyone fall in love with an amalgamation of steel, aluminum, plastic, and rubber? I crave the peace of mind, the security.

It’s puzzling, though; “I don’t know why I don’t fall in love.”

Like I said, it’s only an automobile. It’s simply a mode of transportation. It’s just a measure of social utility.

And these things happen. These things happen every day. But you don’t take stock “Until It Happens To You.”

See, we’re merely creatures of habit. And, society is a collection of creatures. We can set goals, we can envision a new future, but do things really change? After all, the best way to predict the future is to look at the past.

We’re just a bunch of suckers.

We’ve all sold out. But, “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

The Story So Far and Alkaline Trio concerts sold out, too. I made a killing on each show. Generally speaking, the “bands du jour,” as well as the legacy acts produce economic opportunities for outside investors.

Do you follow?

Hey, I’m not really an artist. I’m not that cool. But, I’m a curator. I’m a presenter. I’m an aficionado. I’m an appreciator. I’m like John Cusack in High Fidelity. I can make you a mixtape if that’s your thing.

My thing around the holidays is to stay inside my place of residence all by my lonesome. What, do I have to spell it out for you?! I was home alone.

I watched The Santa Claus 2, which is a mediocre sequel at best. Turns out, the CGI version of Tim Allen as Santa Claus resembles that of a fascist dictator. Lucky for us, the kids – ahem, the elves – take care of business. Indeed, the elves are the future.

On Christmas Day, “I made my family [re]appear.” My mother made a really good batch of chocolate chip cookies, only because I had asked.

And, later that evening, I ate a handful of said treats while I watched Kevin explore the Big Apple. Still, I thought to myself, “It’s just not feasible for a 9-year-old to navigate the trenches of New York City.”

And, in Part 1, it kills me every time: Kevin never gets to enjoy his microwaveable mac ‘n’ cheese dinner.

And, it should be noted that the villains carry distinct personalities. Harry is sensible; he is a smart criminal. Marv is vain; he is a bumbling idiot.

Still, it only takes one individual to mess it all up. It only requires one person to tarnish the Christmas spirit.

And just like that, Christmas was canceled.

He appeared in the breezeway of the Plaza Hotel. He told us how to get to the lobby. He said, “Down the hall and to the left,” but I didn’t believe him. It’s all lies. I don’t know why we’re still paying attention.

Furthermore, I don’t know why Hollywood greenlit St. Elmo’s Fire. It’s really just The Breakfast Club (continued).

And, Bad Moms is a pretty bad film, but it does a pretty good job of illustrating the concept of “Mother Nurture.”

Let it be known that Side Effects is not so much a movie about the pharmaceutical industry, but instead is a movie about the life of a psychopath.

Finally, Lost in Translation is a (wonderful) slice of life in a foreign setting.

The setting is always the variable. Art is recycled. Art is paraphrased. You can take any piece of art and make it matter, make it relevant. The kicker is the time and the place.

And, on the 11th day of Christmas between 7:00pm and 7:15pm, the bad guys struck.

So it goes.

We are the Crypto generation. However, the digital currency market is on the backburner (for now). It’s just simmering at the moment. There’s no inherent value (yet). At the same time, (recreational) marijuana is now a legitimate industry in the Great State of California. Both fields of study will be regulated accordingly in an effort to minimize public scrutiny.

But that is neither here nor there.

I’m only here to tell you “How I Spent My Xmas Vacation.” I hope you have some free time in which to read about it.

And, even if you don’t read the whole story, maybe you could lend me some assistance? Is Alkaline Trio basically like a Blink-182 clone?

Furthermore, does Agony & Irony aim to breed sorrow and satire, simultaneously?

And, is Crypto still decentralized when the government intervenes?

As we go our separate ways and venture into the New Year that is 2018, there are so many questions to consider:

  • What if Home Alone is just Kevin’s fantasy? What if the war is actually in his head?
  • What if Old Man Marley (with his snow shovel in hand) figured it out by himself?
  • When was the last time the Pigeon Lady had a shower?
  • What if E.F. Duncan was just a figment of Kevin’s imagination?
  • And, how does Kevin clean up the house in such a timely manner?

We do, however, know the following:

  • I can craft (somewhat) funny jokes.
  • I can park your car (for a reasonable fee).
  • I can achieve arbitrage (at the ideal time and the ideal place).
  • Home Alone is actually a horror film, kind of like The Good Son
  • And, last but not least, Macaulay Culkin played the kazoo in The Pizza Underground.

At the beginning of the year, I’m just a Millennial archetype. At the end of the day, I can do anything. Still, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing or how to go about doing it. I do know that “[I’ve] Had Enough.”




It’s shorthand for cryptography. It’s a secret code, kind of like “Bosco.”

Long ago, Sir Isaac Newton told us that, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

Cryptography occurs when written text is converted into a code (i.e. “encipher”). Cryptography also completes the opposite action wherein a code is translated into written text.

It’s not a secret anymore, though. It’s just a matter of deciphering which sources are selling the correct information.

Hey babe, “If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar.

Look, I like to be as concise as possible, whenever possible. I prefer “Brevity” to longevity. And, I prefer to share popular music with my audience to help illustrate the behavioral fluctuations of my character.

These characteristics are with me forever. These are my personality traits. They cannot be altered. These are the “Things I Can’t Change.”

Life is a roller coaster. The ups induce jubilation. The downs force us to reflect on what’s truly important. So hodl tight and enjoy the ride. This story is called “Crypto,” and it’s based on real events.

It begins on a Monday afternoon in mid-December, 2017.

I placed a bet on the future. I put my money on Metz. I thought they would be the next “It” band. I was wrong, though. Turns out, nobody is talking about Metz. So, I guess it’s “Back to the drawing board.”

Rest assured, “It’s all about to change.” The caveat is that we just don’t know for sure which band it will be. It’s all speculation at this juncture. It’s like a coin flip at this point.

See, the art of conversation will dictate its success. It will only flourish if you talk about it.

Ya dig?

Last Monday night, I met up with my former roommate, A.J. A.J. moved in with his girlfriend. I now pay double the rent.

So it goes.

We convened at Fly Bar on Divisadero, a mere two blocks from The Independent. We shared chicken nachos and drank some pilsners. We talked about the Metz-up world. Then, we talked about our daily lives. Next, we talked about our future plans.

A band called Moaning was the opening act. Their sound resembled that of Joy Division. Then Metz took center stage around 10 o’clock in the evening.

Armen, our Uber driver, blasted E-40 on the way back to the East Bay. I was fine with that. Because, at the end of the day, “We out here tryna function.”

And, “At the end of the day, I do just what I want.”

And, at the end of the day, I’m just happy to be here.

Are you not?

I mean, “Why can’t you just be happy?

And why can’t you recognize that The Story So Far are simply a modern iteration of Taking Back Sunday?

On Tuesday morning, I took it all back.

See, in my story, Tuesday is the new Sunday. I took back my weekend because it’s all I got left. I’ll work for the man, but I need to have some fun, too.

You already know what transpires, but I’ll tell you anyways.

I woke up to a vibrating portable device. It was out of control, and I was “Out Of It” from the night before.

Mario Batali had been blacklisted. The crypt keeper had visited Ed Lee. And the “Crypto” market was on the rise. I wore my The Movielife t-shirt, because on days like these, well, life is but a dream.

I texted my friends, “I don’t want to alarm you guys, but Litecoin is trending upwards.”

Jesse replied, “You guys, this Xmas could be unbelievable for cryptos.” I should mention that Jesse is of Jewish heritage.

“The world is going crypto crazy,” said Kanaan. “Fly me to the moon.”

Bitcoin had emerged as the market leader. Ethereum was a distant #2. Litecoin took the bronze. And, along the way, we got caught up in a game of “International Intrigue” and “Unbridled Enthusiasm.”

Now, we’re “In Too Deep,” bruh.

By Wednesday, it was back to work. “Here we go again,” I thought. It was cold. The car windshields were frosted over. I couldn’t see two feet in front of me.

Turns out, a lot of folks are blinded by the “Crypto Mania,” as well. This is not a “get-rich-quick” scheme, folks. This is technology in its infancy. Right now, it’s a digital gold rush. Surely, there will be winners and losers. However, the long-term success depends on mainstream adoption.

Will your clothing boutique endorse Bitcoin? Will your firm utilize “smart contracts” on the Ethereum network? And, can valet parking attendants accept Litecoin as a form of gratuity?

The thought of digital currency connected to a public ledger sounds like An American Paradox. My friends and I are simply “Lubricating The Revolution.”

Still, nobody knows anything. We only know what they tell us. So, just “Buy the rumor, and sell the news.” Likewise, “Buy the Facebook post, and sell the likes.”

Oy vey.

It’s the end of the year, and I’m “Breakin’ Down.” As such, I’ve been staying in lately, hibernating. I’ve been watching popcorn flicks on my television screen. This week, I watched Sleeping with the Enemy, alongside The Rise and Rise of Bitcoin.

I watched the former and realized that Julia Roberts was merely an actress from the 80s and 90s. I watched the latter and realized that a handful of cynics are writing off Bitcoin and other such cryptocurrencies as a fad.

If only I had joined the game a few short years ago, I could have been a “Contender.”

And, if only I had been more aware of my surroundings, I could have prevented my fall.

But here I am. And, “Here we go again.”

And might I add, “Have a nice trip! See you next fall!”

I’m not joking, either. I tripped and fell on the following Monday around 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Yes, literally. I took a tumble. It was embarrassing. I died, so to speak. Then, I came back to life. And, “For The Record“, I’m now a fan of Every Time I Die.

I was jogging around the lake. I was looking straight ahead, not down. Who would look down? I hit a divot or something. Or maybe my shoe got caught in a crack in the pavement. I ate shit. My instinct told me to break my fall with my right hand, just as I did when I fractured my right wrist while playing basketball in the 8th grade.

I gathered myself, and uttered an incredulous “Wow!”

The jogger passing by on my left asked, ”Are you okay, bro?”

In my head, I thought, I’m Not Okay (I Promise).”

And furthermore, You’re not my bro, don’t say it, don’t you pretend that you’re my bro.

In reality, I said, “I’m fine, thanks.”

I came to, dusted myself off, and did another lap around the lake. At the end of the day, I had scraped my hand and my right arm. I had also fashioned a “Black And Blue” mark on my outer right thigh.

Later that evening, I listened to Stomping Ground. Next, I revisited Culture Abuse. Then, I wrote a letter to my friend, Kris Kringle.

It seems that most toddlers are frightened of Old Saint Nick, judging by the photos circulating on my Facebook feed. Believe you me; he’s a jolly guy.

Trust me. “I know him!

Dear Santa,

 All I want for Xmas is “Peace On Earth.”

“And, all I want is forward progress.”

And, perhaps some Ether as a stocking stuffer.

Because, you know, coal doesn’t have much utility anymore.

And, uh, for Litecoin to hit 500, please.

 Thanks, brah.


 P.S. I know, in reality, this is just wishful thinking. And, by the way, “This song was only wishful thinking.”

P.P.S. “Keep the change, ya filthy animal.

But, I digress.

A few days later, the Crypto market followed suit. It took a tumble, so to speak.

“Here we go again,” I reminded myself.

I saw the headlines on that Thursday morning. Meanwhile, my phone was blowing up.

“I think the bubble is bursting! Sell, sell, sell!” exclaimed Paul.

“Downtown Chinatown,” added Kanaan.

“It’s like the ‘Blockchain Airing of Grievances,’” I replied. “And, Festivus is this Saturday the 23rd, don’t you know?”

The news was delivered in a flurry, but I didn’t want to buy into it.

The Flawed Bull Case for Bitcoin,” The Wall Street Journal stated. But I couldn’t read on. Turns out, I had to pay to access content on The WSJ website.

 “Bitcoin is falling,” said Business Insider. 

“Bitcoin Tumbles From Record in Biggest Slump Since Futures,” uttered Bloomberg Technology

 “Litecoin Creator Sells Stake Citing ‘Conflict of Interest,’” CoinDesk remarked

“Coinbase Halts Bitcoin Cash Transactions Amidst Accusations of Insider Trading,” The Verge speculated.

 “Opinion: Bitcoin is a Derivative That Could Bring Down the Financial System,” claimed International Investment

“Cryptocurrency’s Future Increasingly Enigmatic,” as Newsmax assumed the role of Captain Obvious.

OMG!I panicked for a brief moment. Then, I glanced at some other headlines.

The thing about the modern era is that you can cater the news to your liking. You can get push alerts from CNN. You can follow the market on Bloomberg TV. Or you can watch MSNBC if that’s your cup of tea. And you can ignore the naysayers. Or you can watch Hannity on Fox News every weeknight at 9pm EST.

My outlook brightened.

“As Bitcoin Flirts with $20k, Let’s Revisit its Earlier Crashes,” said Forbes in a reassuring tone.

“The Bitcoin Boom: In Code We Trust,” read an op-ed piece from The New York Times

“Bitcoin’s Smaller Cousins are Leading the Crypto Rally,” Bloomberg confirmed

 “Stay in Bitcoin and Other Cryptocurrencies for the Long Haul,” exclaimed the Financial Times. Again, though, I couldn’t actually read the article because I’m not a loyal subscriber.

Turns out, freedom is not free. Neither is information.

Now, we’re just counting the days till the ball drops.

And, I’m “Counting The Days” till I go to Hell.

But, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” It’s only Las Vegas.

And, this is only a “Punk Rock Song.”

And, at the end of the day, I’m just an Epitaph Records fanboy, even though “Punk Rock Song” was a single released during the Atlantic years.

And, again, I don’t want to alarm you, but this is merely the “Framework” for something bigger.

Now, the story must end. However, the end of my story might be “The beginning of a blockchain revolution.”

So, stay tuned. And, of course, Happy Holidays to you and yours.

And, please remember to Tell All Your Friends about this story. In case you forgot, I called this one “Crypto.”



small talk


On Monday night, I had Chinese for dinner. I didn’t feel like (North) Korean BBQ. I gave my friends the heads-up, but nobody seemed interested. So, I ordered for one.

I ordered vegetable chow mein, pork pot stickers, and beef with broccoli. It was marvelous.

Towards the end of the meal, I reached for a fortune cookie. It read, “A thrilling time is in store for you.”

I cracked the second cookie and discovered that, “It is most gratifying when a goal is achieved through one’s efforts.”

The final cookie said, “If you are still hungry, have another fortune cookie.”

And, this is “Final Day,” a song from Full Circle. It is the fifth track, right after “Society.”

You know, we’re living in a society!” at least according to George Costanza.

If you haven’t noticed by now, I have a skill. I’m doing things in my own fashion.

And, “I don’t care if you never see the world like I do.”

I also watched True Romance on Monday night. It’s a good story, but the end is a bloody mess. Turns out that everybody is a sellout. And, everybody gets sold out at some point in time. Some of us are wasted, while the lucky ones ride off into the sunset.

In this adaption of life, the lucky ones are Clarence and Alabama, portrayed by Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette, respectively. After the shit show at the Ambassador Hotel, the duo (presumably) flips the coke for a profit. Then, they (presumably) run for the border. Then, they have a kid. This is obvious. Then, they live happily ever after on the warm sands of Mexico.

So it goes.

For those who haven’t seen this gem of a film, it’s a classic Quentin Tarantino cluster fuck. He wrote the screenplay. Tony Scott directed. Some guy name Brad Pitt plays the part of a waste-of-space stoner named “Floyd.” A slim James Gandolfini also makes an appearance. It was made in 1993.

Now, we’re nearing the end of 2017. Turns out, “We’ve been sold out, [but] we can get out.”

See, “You can demand what you want and take it.”

And, “[You] can start over today. Live [your] life a different way.”

Sounds good, I’ll have that. “[I’ll] live for today.”

Or, you can be your own worst enemy.

See, I’m a minimalist. I don’t ask for that much. I just want to make a decent living and not hate my job. That’s it.

Lucky for me, “[My] future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.” Bitcoin hit 19k on Thursday morning. I was still sleeping, though; I was dreaming of my futures and options.

This is my story so far. I want to let you in on all of the juicy details. But, first, let us take a step backwards. I want to talk about sports. Then, I want to talk about the weather. Then, I’ll throw in some pop culture nonsense. We might even talk about food at some point.

By now, you’re probably (anxiously) awaiting my Pennywise recap. Well, “Just hodl.” Indeed, you’re going to have to wait.

First, check out the new video from Reunions. It’s called “Aching Waits.”

We are always waiting. In 2008, Senses Fail claimed that Life Is Not A Waiting Room. Results are pending.

We think that we’ll find the answers on the nightly news. So, we tune in and we listen to the talking heads. However, for this chapter, I opted to focus on the original “It” band.

The story begins on Sunday night. I had just returned from Sacramento. I watched the Seahawks outduel the Eagles. I chatted with Andy on the World Wide Web. I typed con 1 hend, than keeept mmeking speling and Grammar boo boos>

And, this recollection is merely a series of “lowercases and CAPITALS.”

Andy said, “The Vikings are 10-2 and might be the 1-seed.” He added, “It’s unbelievable.”

I quickly got bored with the game. Football is such a violent sport. And, “Violence plagues society.”

Meanwhile, I thought to myself, “While I’m safe inside eating ramen and guzzling green tea, ‘The city is burning tonight!’”

Literally, though, “Los Angeles Is Burning,” didn’t you hear the news?

Yeah, it’s the “Same as it ever was.”

I finished my meal, and then I watched The Autopsy of Jane Doe. Turns out, there was a massacre, and Jane Doe’s body was discovered under the rubble in tip-top condition. But, when we cut her open and try to get to the bottom of the issue, all hell breaks loose.

It was made in 2016. The film makes a direct reference to the Salem Witch Trials, then brushes on McCarthyism. And, some might go as far to say that this film foreshadowed the modern blacklisting trend.

Do you agree? Yeah, “Me Too.”

You know, Elaine was blacklisted, too. So what do you think about that?

I slept in till 10:34AM on Monday. I tried Presidential Purple the night before. I slept like a baby. If I woke up, I would just go back to sleep. It was like that scene from Office Space, when (through his actions), Peter Gibbons says, “Fuck the world, I’m sleeping in.”

I hadn’t slept all week. Or so it felt.

By now, you should know that I don’t work on Mondays. And, by now, you should know that “I am a humble. I am vain. What motivates me, something I can’t explain. I am outrageous and insane.

That’s right, “It’s all me.”

And, “Every now and then, I kick the living shit out of me.”

I try to do too much at once. I sacrifice sleep for success because Bad Religion told me, “You’ve got a chance to be relevant today.”

Yeah, “I figure I’ll just sleep when I’m dead.”

By now, you should know that music is very important to me. It sets the stage, kind of like the weather.

In The Autopsy of Jane Doe, there is a storm raging outside as the father and son duo perform the autopsy. Yesterday at work, it was bitter cold.

I had one guest say, “I hope you’re bundled up out there!”

I had another passerby say, “Brrr!”

The world is a cold place, indeed. Still, everybody is too afraid to talk about the world. Reason being, “The world is a smoking gun that is loaded.”

Yup, the outside world is a dump. Nowadays, humans prefer to stay indoors, online.

Me too. “I Love My Computer,” and after initial criticism, I am slowly starting to appreciate The New America.

Welcome to the new America, folks, where good things come in three. Then they “Die off in time!

In the 90s, we had skate punk bands like Pennywise, Bad Religion, and NOFX. In modern-day Sacramento, we can eat pizza at Selland’s at the flagship market on the east side. Or, we can indulge in Carnitas Con Huevos at Zocalo in Midtown. Likewise, we could simply grab a latté at Old Soul Co. in the Oak Park neighborhood.

And, in fact, none of this will be popular in 20 years. People will cease to talk about it. But it will still be relevant. Art is timeless.

I had plenty of time with which to deal on Monday. The plan was to do nothing. I would do laundry. I would clean up around the apartment. I would relax. I would recharge.

But, then I heard the talking heads on CNN. They told me that Flynn lied. “[He] Lied To The FBI.” And the POTUS knew it all along, kind of like that Midtown song.

And, on Saturday night, I saw Pennywise at Ace Of Spades, which is an oddly designed rock club situated in Midtown Sacramento.

And, did you know that Sacramento is the self-renowned “Farm-To-Fork” capital of these united states?

And, “Sactown” is a nickname for Sacramento. And, Sacramento is the capital of the Great State of California. Sometimes, we have former movie stars as acting governors. The governor meets with other legislators to discuss public policy matters at the capitol building in the downtown area.

My sister, brother-in-law, and niece happen to live in East Sac. And in case you didn’t realize it, “Sac” is also shorthand for Sacramento.

My niece is only 18 months old. So, I’m trying to make this post easy for her to comprehend. She has an adorable voice, but her vocabulary is limited at the moment.

Before the show, “I hear[d] the voice of reason on the P.A.” It told me to “Leave It Alone.”

Then I heard “Suffer.” Did you know that, “The masses of humanity have always had to suffer?”

Then it was Less Than Jake. You know, that song about you being your own worst enemy. Come on, you know it. “I’m the king of catastrophes. I’m so fucked up.”

It’s from Anthem. What’s it called?

That’s right. It’s called, “The Science of Selling Yourself Short.”

Then it was “Ruby Soho.”

“Destination unknown.

Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby Soho.”

Social D followed suit with “Story Of My Life.”

Next up was Sex Pistols, “Anarchy in the UK.”

I’m not joking, people. These were the songs that were playing overhead as we waited for the clowns to take the stage.

And, at work on Tuesday night, a continuous loop of Christmas cheer played on the P.A. The outdated playlist didn’t include any Joyce Manor.

Now, that’s what I call Christmas music! Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired, Joyce Manor are not.

To you, it’s the “Same Old Story.” But, “I’m not cut from the same mold. Don’t know who you think I should be.”

And I know that I already used that bit in the last episode, but that’s the whole point. It’s the same old story.

When was the last time you were this passionate about anything?

And, when was the last time you saw a movie that was (literally) the talk of the town? My Uber driver was talking about it. My family was talking about it, too.

It’s called Lady Bird. It takes place in Sacramento. It follows a teenage girl who (presumably) wants to get (the fuck) out of town and see the world. Here’s the trailer.

Oh, and last week at work, I helped a guest by the name of “Birdsong.” It’s merely a coincidence, though.

And, over the past seven days, yoga professionals have gathered at the hotel to talk about their way of life. The conference could have lasted half as long, though. The organizers really stretched it out. The start times each and every day were quite flexible.

Turns out, I need more yoga in my life. I need to chill out. I need to be more flexible.

So, I started to chat with one of these ladies, as I helped her with her baggage up to the room. I asked her, “So, where are you coming in from today?” Just “Small Talk,” nothing major. She replied, “I just traveled for 36 hours straight. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

I maneuvered the luggage cart, and we went straight ahead to the room. It was dead silence.

On Sunday afternoon, it was anything but silent. On the ride home from Sacramento, I blasted Straight Ahead, because I hadn’t listened to it in a few days. As I limped along 80-West, I felt “Homesick.” After “Badge of Pride,” I immediately switched the dial to Unknown Road.

I had to clear my head. And the voice of reason reminded me that “It’s your life, it’s your life, it’s your life, it’s your life…[and that] some dreams do come true.”

Sometimes you just need to go with your gut. It doesn’t matter what type of car you drive; it all comes down to character.

Unfortunately, we’re driven by greed. “Corporate greed, government greed, religious greed, national greed, individual greed, big business greed, American greed, American greed. It’s all greed. It’s all greed. It’s all greed.”

See, Pennywise go against the grain.

Oh, my!

And, The Story So Far deliver “I’m (Not) Sorry” ballads.

Oh well.

And Bad Religion literally say, “Fuck You.”

Whoa! Whoa!

Then, Joyce Manor come back down to Earth.

Seems like everybody is pissed off nowadays, but I’m doing just fine.

I’m seeing Alkaline Trio on Dec 29th, but “I’m Dying Tomorrow.”

P.S. METZ could be the next “It” band. Stay tuned. They’re not to be confused with MEST.

P.P.S Here’s the set list (minus a few covers) from church last Saturday night. I’ll probably never go back to Ace of Spades.

“Fight Till You Die”

“Can’t Believe It”

“Date With Destiny”

“My Own Country”

“Go Away”


“Wouldn’t It Be Nice?”


“Same Old Story”

“My Own Way”

“As Long As We Can”

“Living For Today”

“Fuck Authority”

“Bro Hymn”

P.P.P.S. “Is Anyone Listening?”