CLASSIC MYSPACE BLOG - THE DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN 11/19/05 SAN FRANCISCO, CA @ 12 GALAXIES

Originally posted Thursday, June 1st, 2006

In sixth grade Alex and I hopped on BART and travelled into The City where we attended a Star Wars convention. On our way back I got us all going the wrong way on a train bound for who-knows-where and started to cry. Alex could have made a big thing of it, but then he wouldn't have been my friend for the past quarter decade. A wise move.

Fast forward to almost now (relatively) and we both were in SF again eating cheese fries while Amie was recuperating in the ER, having almost croaked in a flower bed outside a gay karaoke nightclub.

Both experiences vie in my mind for most beloved memory, but I think The Dillinger Escape Plan show takes the cake.



I wait for Alex at a bar down the street from 12 Galaxies knocking back tequila shots. Dillinger singer guy comes in. I recognize him off the bat because he wears the same Whitesnake tee he wore on Headbangers Ball days before.

I'm all, hey!

He comes over. Friendly guy. Digs my Locust tee. I offer him a drink of his choice. He politely refuses. I insist.

That's my tour manager over there. He'll kick my ass if he sees me drinking before a show.

We talk about his band.

Have you seen them before?

I'm all, fuck yeah!, relating my epiphany when they opened for Mr. Bungle at the top of DV8 and months later in the basement when the power fuse kept blowing up.

Etc.

It strikes me as strange he keeps referring to his band as "them".

Such a humble guy for someone with biceps the size of tree trunks. Few people could bring him down, let alone some scrawny tour manager.



At thirty seven years of age, I head to the front of the stage.

Foolish.

Alex is wise to keep to the rear.

Whenever consructing a sentence with him involved, "Alex is wise to..." always works.

I'm still bruised. I get some good shots off, though, and brave it with kids half my age.

Why isn't singer guy still in his Whitesnake tee?

The only flaw of the evening.



Singer guy stands outside the venue after the show. Kids surround him and ask how to make it in the biz and whatnot. I sense Alex would just as soon pass the whole scene by. I stop. Alex keeps walking. Singer guy seems to recognize me from before. Gives me a welcoming glance. I approach.

Man, that was awesome. You guys rock.

Thanks.

I gotta tell ya, Miss Misery never comes out out of my CD player.

Um, that's all well and good, but Miss Misery is an Elliott Smith song. Our album is called Miss Machine...

Oh. Well, okay then, bye bye.

CLASSIC MYSPACE BLOG - MORMONS LIKE TO DIG HOLES

If God had equipped me with a brain bigger than a golf ball, I would have finished school.

A big-brained Ted was not in His grand scheme, though - a reality I've come to accept in past years. According to the faith of my fathers I chose my, um, condition in the pre-existence, where I once battled Lucifer. In Mormondom all bases are covered... if your lot is to go through life confined to a wheelchair, you were probably a great athlete before coming here. You chose that challenge, valiant bad-ass mother fucker that you are. I chose not to be the greatest thinker of all time as I most certainly was when I advised God Himself on how to bring down a third of the host of heaven.

I would have thought all this to be rather obvious to my friends and family.

Duh.

To this day I am asked if I still drive shuttles, as though my CAREER was some sort of twelve-year transition between the mediocre Ted and Ted the Übermensch.

People, this is all I've got.

Deal with it.

But I digress...

If I had finished school I probably would be a quantum physicist by now so I could tell Brian Greene to take his M-theory and shove it up his ass.

Or I'd be a cultural anthropologist so I could explain this whole Mormon thing to others.

The best I can do is tell you Mormons like to dig holes - way more than other people. You can claim I haven't tested my premises, but I have a gut feeling on this one.

WAY WAY more than others.

I think this stems back to the founder himself, Mr. Joseph Smith, jr.

Look him up on the Internet. After an hour of study, you'll come away convinced all he did in his young life was dig holes and unbury shit.

Unlike marrying more than one lass, this tradition has not only survived to this day, but has become more pronounced, as is the case down the street from me where they've taken out a whole city block right in front of church headquarters.

CLASSIC MYSPACE BLOG - THE URINAL WARS

Note: This first appeared on my MySpace blog Wednesday, June 14th, 2006.

The signs above the urinals started out innocent enough. You'd encounter something like:

Please be considerate and remember to flush.

These were accompanied by smiley faces and whatnot.

Somewhere along the way it got ugly, probably after hippie guy down the hall felt he needed to chime in:

Also realize we live in a desert. A DESERT! We must all pitch in to preserve our natural resources.

Yeah, definitely uglier from here forward:

Fuck you, you fuck.

And so on.

I started visiting the restroom even when I didn't have to pee. Most every morning a sullied, vitriolic addendum would put a smile on my face.

This one nearly killed me:

Every time you do not flush I will eat an animal!

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