Nutshell of my life for the past few months: I found a new job at an old place that I had helped open, kind of rad. I moved out of the boondocks, and closer to the city (which I love the place. It's so ghetto, that if I want to feel better about my life, I just open the blinds. For example, there's a couple next door that have a 20 year old daughter with a 1 year old son. The mother neglects the boy, and I wake up to her parents calling for the lad by his nickname, "Boo-Boo! Boo-Boo! Where are you? Boo-Boo!", but it's with a very dear friend of mine, and we both keep a good house, so not all is bad.). Sad note: my son moved away. His mother moved to Hawaii, and, much to my disapproval, placed him with her parents. I haven't seen him in a couple of months, and I miss him so much.
So, I guess this one's for you, Jones.
I turn 32 in a couple weeks. I never, in a million years, thought that this is where I would be. I know that everyone says that about their lives, good or bad, but it's the truth. I think of all the pipe dreams that I have had. I was supposed to be the big rock star. I was the one who was going to make it big off of a ska band, right? Good looking out, World. 2nd, getting a degree in music business because getting a job in an industry that will never go down, figuring records will just keep getting pressed, and people will keep buying into the multi-billion dollar music corporation forever, right? Ugh.
I can honestly say that even though there have been failures and heartbreaks, there have been plenty of smiles and good times. I went on tour with a ton of bands, I released some records, I've partied with my favorite people, and Milo, well, as much hell as I have been put through to have him in my life, he's still the coolest dude I've ever met. Sorry, Nagel.
I have enjoyed what I do for a living, figuring I've done it for quite a while, and as my father likes to tell me, "Someone is always thirsty, son." (He says this to me while sipping the finest Evan Williams Bourbon). It's small tidbits from the Doctor like these that keep me rolling through the everyday jime, called life. As I've said before, he's a self made man, and has been with the love of his life for 40 years, so if there's one person to look up to, it has to be someone like that. I'm not looking for a G.G. Allin type role model these days. Plus, it's one of the few things that I'm actually good at, this whole bartending thing.
I've realized, though, that I am the master of bad timing. I can tell you almost anything about popular music over the last 70 years, I can twist you up a fine cocktail, I can write a bubble gum pop song that would make Frankie Lymon blush, but timing, that's not my strong suit. For fuck's sake, I started a ska band after 1998.
I'm not out looking for a pity party, it's just a fact of life. As my mother says, "We Sampsons: if we didn't have bad luck, there would be no luck at all.".
It's a shitty way to look at life, and, yes, I am a pessimist, but, hey, it is what it is. Due to horrible timing, I've had 10 years in a band that I would never take back, a son that would never have been around, and some friends that I would have never been as close to, as I am now.
On that note, here's a funny tour story:
We were doing a west coast tour in April of 2007 that included shows in all up and down California, including a headlining slot at the world famous Whisky A Go-Go. Although it was a pay to play spot, headlining the place where Miles Davis, Otis Redding, Van Halen, Motley Crue, etc. played was quite thrilling. I actually teared up on stage during load in at that exact thought.
The show was packed, we played a killer set, and friends, old and new, showed up to watch the performance. At that time, we were touring for our final album "Last Stand", and after doing shows with the like of bigger bands, obtained quite a following. After the show, the only right thing to do, was to go get hammered at the Rainbow. That's what old music playing bastards still do, right?
Zac and I walked there with the mindset that we were now in the biggest band in the world, and were at that point, complete rockstars. There was a certain swagger that we had after that show that had never been in our step before. I was Freddie Mercury that night...minus the mustache, teeth, and love for the same sex.
We got to the Rainbow, and our friends were already there with drinks in hand, waiting to knock us out, whiskey after whiskey. It worked, to the point where I was unable to walk around my own feet, and rather, on my lips.
I noticed a blonde gentleman sitting at the bar, with blonde hair, singing along to the 1987 soundtrack that they constantly have on rotation on the entire Sunset Strip. I drunkenly squinted at him, when it hit me:
"Zac, is that Jani Lane?"
"From Warrant?"
"Yeah, from Warrant, dick. You know any other Jani Lanes out there?"
"Yeah, that's him."
"I'm going to beat the shit out of him. I fucking hated 'Cherry Pie'."
"You're going to kick the lead singer of Warrant's ass, just because of a song? That's not right."
After several minutes of coaxing me to stand down, I began to scan the outside bar, with the thought of whom to fight. This is ridiculous, figuring I really don't like to physically harm people, I would just rather them feel like complete dumb-dumbs. I then scoped a table full of guys, wearing pastel colored sweaters, with collared shirts popping out of them. Stupid. I scanned the table some more.
"Hey, Caz, is that James fucking Blunt?"
"Yup, that's him."
"Can I kick his ass?"
"He's all yours, pal."
I proceeded to his table, and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me? Yeah, excuse me?"
"Yes?"
"You're a faggot."
(turns away)
*taps shoulder*
"Excuse me! Hey, Blunt!"
"What?"
"Can I politely ask you to stop ruining the world with your shitty records? The Queen Mum hates your voice."
(Right before this tour, Mr. Blunt was awarded quite a few Grammies for his "You're Beautiful" record. Not that it makes it an amazing record, but why would my Podunk, Nowhere ass do anything to hurt homeboys feelings?)
He then turns to me, with his lower lip out, and leaves the outside bar with his gaggle of Easter colored friends. Now, if you have ever been to the Rainbow on a Friday night, getting a table outside is a bitch and a half, so I guess I have good timing on certain occasions...wink.
Everything that happened after that was X-rated, and would be completely horrifying to my mother, and any other faint of heart person, so we'll leave it at that.
Until next time, poonhounds.
