Last night was the first show our band has played in a long time. It's taken time to find a new singer and bassist and with the number of kids between the five of us it's hard to find time to practice, let alone play shows. On the plus side, we'll have an amazing boy band ready to go once the kids get older. Ain't no livin' like vicarious livin'.
It was after we played our set and I was watching the next band that I realized it may be time for me to hang up my drumsticks. I was sitting down (at a metal show--this is a big no-no--also, it's not metal to say no-no) and was having my usual introverted conversation with myself. Welcome to the inner workings of my psyche:
ME: "We played a fast and tight set tonight. I feel good though. That's the most exercise I've had in a long time. I really need to work out more often. I'm not 21 anymore."
MY INNER VOICE (a.k.a. That A-Hole That's Usually Right But Has To Be A Dick About It): "You know who is 21, every other member of every other band you've played with tonight. Remember when you were 18 and used to go to shows and laugh at the old guys that were playing music. Yeah, well, you're that old guy now."
ME: "At least I'm not wearing leather pants like those old guys from Ramzeus were."
MY INNER VOICE: "Like you'd fit into them anyway." Seriously, dude, what are you doing here? You have three kids and a wife at home. Shouldn't you be there brushing teeth and tucking in instead of rocking out?"
At this point, I'm saved from my inner voice's belittling by the singer on stage. He's getting the crowd pumped up with the usual, "This is a metal show, get the *%&^ up." and "I want to see every one of you %#&@ers moving on this next song." He may have also said some very unkind things about someone's mother. That's when the voice started back in.
MY INNER VOICE: "Dude, are you listening to this douchebag?"
ME: "He's just doing his job, trying to get the crowd pumped up."
MY INNER VOICE: "Well, he's failing because you're still sitting down."
ME: "I'm not going to get up. I've been standing all night, watching these other bands tearing it up. My back hurts. The doctor said there are signs of arthritis in my lower back."
MY INNER VOICE: "First off, you're too old to say "tearing it up" or any other phrase unless you follow it up with, 'Do kids still say that?' Also....Arthritis? Really? Hey kids, we're here to melt your faces with our brand of arthritic thrash metal."
ME: "How come you get to say cool stuff like 'melt your faces' and I don't?"
MY INNER VOICE: "That's not important, what is important is that you check out that girl over there. You see what she's wearing? Nice right?
ME: "Good God, she should cover up. It's 29 degrees outside. I'd never want my daughter to go out of the house dressed like that."
MY INNER VOICE: "Thank you for making my point. I remember what you used to think about girls dressed like that. I'm not going to get in to it, because we'll probably write a blog post about this later and I know that your Mom reads it."
ME: "Good idea."
MY INNER VOICE: "I'm full of them. You should listen to me more often."
ME: "I will. Let's go up to the stage and rock out."
MY INNER VOICE: "Never say 'rock out' again."
And with that, my inner voice spread his arms, dropped the mic and walked off stage while I walked up to it...arthritis be damned. But my eventful night wasn't over yet. It's never over until you get the police involved.
At least, Libby still likes to rock out.
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