I moved yesterday. Things changed and I couldn’t stay back at Nate and Sami’s house anymore, so I spent Saturday packing all my crap, washing all my clothes, and moving it from their house back to my ‘rents house. I’m not super siked about living here again, I would really like to live … anywhere else, but I got myself stuck up shit creek without a paddle and now I have to accept the financial repercussions and deal with it until I pay for all my legal misfortune and save up enough to buy a tent and move out behind the WalMart or wherever is cheap.So I’m sick as a dog, feeling ass-tastic, and I had to spend the whole day moving. It’s not really that bad because I only own enough stuff to fill one room. I can fit everything I own in one car load, and the bed of a standard F150, so it’s a one trip affair as long as I get everything packed well. But when I got over here my little brother, who just moved out, had left this gigantic monster desk in my room, and we had to get it out. This involved taking the door off it’s hinges, flipping the fucker on it’s side, and waddling slowly out into the hall and down the stair. Several migrant workers were killed in the desk move, and I would like to request a moment of silence for their families who are now fatherless, and will be deported back to their countries of origin since without a man to work for me they are all useless and I reported them to INS.
This desk, besides being gigantic, was heavier than a mother fucker. No joke, it had to weigh all of three hundred pounds. And we had to carry it down stairs. I shudder at the thought. I’m pretty sure the side I got, which was the top side, was made of solid lead, or possibly adamantium, I’m not sure. But it was heavier than wood. Much heavier.
So towards the end of the move I got a call from my good friends Rachael and Kenny. Much like Jesus would have done, they invited me out to a heavy metal show in Raleigh for some noise therapy. And I really needed to get out of the house and do something fun. See I just started alcohol treatment classes (post coming soon) and they are on Thursday nights, which means no more thirsty Thursday for eight weeks. This rehab shit is a real buzz kill.
But back to the metal, we went to this metal bar called Volume 11, and they weren’t joking. I can say in confidence that noise was brought, and volume was delivered. I still can’t hear very well and my ears have been ringing loudly since I woke up. They rocked so loud I could feel it in my dick. There were plenty of long haired metal heads and sexy ass rock and roll bunnies. One of my friends is dating a drummer, and his band was headlining, so a bunch of people I know were there. I had fun.
First of all, since all my crap is packed up, I had to skip the traditional metal head uniform. The only black t-shirt I could find was a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt, and I didn’t want to be the Skynyrd guy at the metal show, so I went with my TP shirt instead. It’s got a roll of toilette paper, and it says “That’s how I roll.” I love it. Plus it gives me an excuse to say it all the time. (yeah, I a total dork. I know. That’s how I roll) When we got there, there was this grumpy lesbian bartender who couldn’t remember what I was drinking all night. (no tip bitch) And I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but my lady friends are really really hot. I mean, most of the dudes I hang out with are ugly as sin, but for some reason, my crowd has ridiculously attractive women in it. I’m not sure how that works, but I like it. Eye candy is sweeter than ambrosia.
The first band was lame. Very very lame. I died a little inside because of how retardedly lame they were. But they did jump around a lot, which made it slightly more entertaining to watch. And the bass player was swinging his bass around like a mad man, and I couldn’t help but wish that he would fuck up and drill the singer in the face on accident. Now that would have been a kick ass show. Also I found some humorous irony in the fact that there were probably a hundred white people in black shirts, and the one black guy in the joint had on a white shirt. It made me smile. The singer made out with one of the gargoyles on top of the speaker towers. It wasn’t nearly as cool as it sounds.
But they suffered from a lot of the same problems that most crappy local metal bands have. Their singer couldn’t sing at all, so he just growled and screamed with no melody. I’m sorry if you like that kind of shit, but if you don’t have any melody in your vocals, then pack up and go home cause there’s nothing for you here but my scorn. Don’t get me wrong, I love the growling and screaming, but not without melody to balance it out. If you look at any good metal band, even the really heavy ones, there is always melody in the vocals. Sing dammit! Sing you stupid growling no talent bastards.
The second band was different. There was none of the stage show that the first band had, but in it’s place was a little something I like to call talent. Plus all the guys in the band were really big, so you can tell they were cooler than the first guys, even from a distance. (big = cool) (except for Ronnie James Dio and that dude from Iron Maiden, who were tiny and still rocked the Casbah) But nothing very memorable from the second band either. I do remember that during their set I had to drain the snake, so I headed to the John. But instead of weaving through the crowd like usual, I got stuck behind this crippled guy. He had those cane-brace things, like Jimmy from South Park. So I had to walk all the way across the establishment, incredibly slowly, and try not to look conspicuous. It was weird. So when we got to the bathroom, which was gigantic and clean by the way, I pissed really fast and hoofed it out of there so I didn’t get stuck behind him again. And yes, I washed my hands.
The third band was a weird mix. There were two lead growlers this time, and neither one really seemed to be using any kind of actual words or language. Just screams. And not really in any pattern that might indicate their screams were planned out to go with the music. Just random nonsensical screaming. I could have shat out better vocals. But their drummer was kick ass. He was tearing it up. The guitar player seemed like he was holding back some, that is until I realized he was deformed and only had three fingers on each hand. And between the ninja turtle hands (yes I know they only had two fingers on each hand) and his freaky mongoloid face, he was instantly bad ass.
After that there was a band with a bass player who looked like Screech from Saved by the Bell. Not much else to tell about them. And last of all came the headlining band. I’m not going to mention them by name, because I thought they sucked, and I don’t want to piss off my friends. What I am going to say is a little bit about the fashion of different scenes. I really don’t care much about fashion. You can wear whatever you want for the most part and I probably won’t notice or care. But there are a few rules for heavy metal fashion that need to be addressed. More like anti fashion rules.
Let’s just start with what I thought was common knowledge: no fucking hair product. If you are a dude, don’t style your hair. You know what I think when I see a guy who styles his hair? I think he probably enjoys sucking dick, that’s what I think. Grow it long, cut it short, do whatever, but for the love of God, please don’t imitate Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. This rule also applies to tight/pre-faded and/or ripped jeans. Just stop it people. Guys shouldn’t wear girl pants. Emo bitches do it because they suck, and you don’t want to suck do you? Get some normal jeans like every other guy on the planet, and wear them until they are faded and ripped up. This may take several years, but that’s what you have to do. And there’s no law that says jeans need to be faded or ripped at all. Just put on a random pair of pants and go play some fucking music. No one cares what you have on except you slutty girlfriend and her desperate groupie friends, so just stop trying so damn hard.
Also, don’t wear dress clothes when you are playing rock and roll. It’s not ironic. You just look like a dip shit. Pretty much anything with a collar is out. No fucking ties. This isn’t the office. Also those faggy Kevin Federline hats. I don’t know when exactly these became cool, but it needs to end. Especially hats with plaid. Plaid does not belong on your head you trendy cunt. Same thing for those rapper sunglasses. You know those big ass retarded ones that P. Diddy and Kanye West wear. Don’t wear them. Ever. And I know it’s heavy metal and all, but I distinctly remember a time (back in the day, aka high school) when girls would occasionally die their hair something besides jet black. Somebody please bust out some blue or red or pink. Purple even, I don’t care, but black is getting old.
And that was my night. It was fun. Rock and Roll is not dead, it’s just kind of boring and lacking in talent. Tell me what you did this weekend. Did you wrestle aligators? Did you rape and pilliage? I’m sure you did something exciting, and I want to hear it. So pony up already.