Morning Leaver

Stuff In The Basement

2012-01-23T06:41:00.001-05:00

The way I see it, since I will be doing one more tour with Polar Bear Club this summer, it's again time to form sentences and arrange them into paragraphs. Over the next week I'll be posting pieces half finished and fully forgotten and maybe even some new content about all the napping I've been doing since moving to Portlad. Like AIM, MySpace, Hotmail and hundreds of other sites you don't give a fuck about anymore, Polar Blog Club is back. Well, until these pills wear of.

Post Dated

2010-08-06T19:15:00.002-04:00

Hello world! The following is a blog that was originally planned to be a part of a Warped Tour zine. It was never released so I decided just to post it here instead. The zine was supposed to be about recycling or saving the earth or something I don't particularly care about. What I do care about as of late is getting back into hard drugs. We are on tour in Europe right now, maybe I'll write about it in seven months! Anyway, here's a couple words that I wrote many months ago.

I’ve never supported any type of cause. Never have I cared for much of anything or about anyone other than myself. But being one of the oldest dudes on tour that isn’t in Face To Face means I have a couple of opinions and a few stories to tell. Other entries in this zine will encourage you to reuse this and to not eat that. Beliefs and stances, well, that isn’t really my style. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I refuse to participate in recycling but I certainly don’t make it a point to sort my trash. I’m not a hobo who plays with their waste. Yes, I’m a vegetarian but like with most things in my life, I’m sure it started out as an attempt to impress a girl. I’m not dark and mysterious nor do I try to be. I’m just lazy. But somehow, through all the jadedness and contempt for most everything, there still remains fast music and the Warped Tour. Two things that all these years later I still fully back 100 percent.

I vaguely remember a time, many, many years ago, when large pants and silver balled necklaces ruled the world. Well, my world at least. Shocking bright neon colors adorned a person’s hair and not a large, bold print t-shirt. Polar Bear Club was only a song by Silent Majority and not yet a band made up of the ugliest dudes to ever pick up instruments. Ah, the mid 90’s. When Victory Records actually mattered and social interaction instead of social networking got you laid. Well, my friends laid. Specifically the year was 1996 and the location was Buffalo, New York. My first Warped Tour and one of my first shows in general. My parents were fucking weird. No, not in a “watch you while you shower and take notes” kind of way but in an over protective, shelter me from the outside world manner. For whatever reason it was always a herculean task to convince them to agree to let me borrow their car to travel five miles. In order to get the 1993 Ford Tempo for a four-hour drive so I must have promised the world. Maybe I swore up and down that I’d move out of their house right after graduation. Jokes on them, I still live there! Sigh.

Over the years I’ve heard all sorts of people denounce Warped for being too much of this or not enough of that and maybe at times I’ve agreed with the naysayers. I mean, come on Brokencyde last year and Limp Bizkit many moons ago? There’s never an excuse for either of them. But what I can tell you is that daykick started a fire inside of me that still hasn’t gone out all these years later. Thanks to Warped Tour I’ve been able to see many of my favorite bands for the first time and in some cases for the only time. The Descendents. I saw the fucking Descendents! The Bouncing Souls, Hot Water Music, Social Distortion, Lagwagon, Rocket From The Crypt, AFI and hell, even Deftones. All bands I first experienced at a traveling summer festival.

I don’t have any type of health insurance. Right now today, if I broke a bone, I don’t know what I’d do. Maybe grin and bear it. A quick tour of the inside of my mouth with my tongue reveals a graveyard of teeth missing and molars I still need removed. A trip to my local bank’s ATM will tell me that my checking account currently yields an impressive $7.23. Savings account you say? Hell, haven’t had one of those since…ever. My liver is the size of a scab and my total overall debt likens itself to a CEO’s salary. But last year I went to Europe and the United Kingdom three times. In August I’m going back for the fourth. Thanks to three chords I’ve been back and forth the United States countless times. Due to my friends who play those previously mentioned notes, I’ve made new life long relationships and hopefully during the process made my parents slightly proud. Sure, my high school friends grew up, got married and bought their houses. But did I mention I once saw the fucking Descendents?!

So maybe I believe in more than I previously thought. Perhaps I do champion a cause or two. And I guess the point of me throwing together these grammatically incorrect thoughts is a hope that maybe you do too. And if not now, at the end of your stay here, perhaps you find something or someone that keeps your around for years to come. Check out a smaller stage or two, peer in on a band that maybe you’ve never heard of. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up like me and ride the coat tails of your friends’ band to the other side of the ocean. And hopefully, unlike me, you’ll still have all of your teeth. See you in fourteen years.

Still Alive

2010-05-22T23:52:00.002-04:00

I was going to write a slew of new entries tonight. Instead, I got drunk by myself on whiskey. The way I see it, we all won.

Every Time I Die

2010-04-08T18:12:00.003-04:00

(Wrote this one a couple weeks ago, just getting around to posting now)

I don’t know one single Every Time I Die song title, record name, or lyric. I cannot listen to Four Year Strong without getting a toothache or feeling like an audio pedophile.(Hmm, an audiophile? No, that means something else) And Trapped Under Ice? Come on, you know I hate hardcore.

On our first date of this tour, we headed to Poughkeepsie, New York, and true to form, Polar Bear Club was running extremely late due to me being behind the wheel, my advanced age and cataracts. I remember fantasizing that we would be SO late that the Every Time I Die tour manager would kick us off the tour and tell the lot of us to go home. Why was I already so pessimistic from the onset? Well, first off, the world has done me wrong and owes me something. Other than that though, I wasn’t really jazzed about touring with bands I wasn’t familiar with musically. Yes, we’ve gigged with Four Year Strong and Trapped Under Ice previously, but for the life of me, I couldn’t even tell you what label each band was on. To me, tours are more exciting when I’ve been a fan of the other bands for years and years. To be fair, I’m out of touch with current music. I live in a shell. Instead of posters, upon my shell walls, I hang spite. Rather than art, I choose to show off my anhedonia. So I’m sure you’ll be just as shocked as I was upon realization that I’ve had an incredible time on the tour I’ve dubbed, “Bands That Will Never Grace My Ipod.” (Author's note, I no longer have an Ipod, I left it in a shitty Motel 6 somewhere in the desert. Pity me, it was my mother's)

The routing of this tour can best be described as questionable and you could say this band package is hitting some obscure cities. Quickly browsing our itinerary will reveal a who’s who of areas I’d never, ever think to visit. Sparks, Nevada? No, that can’t be a real place. Lubbock, Texas? Fuck Houston, Austin, or San Antonio! I’m going to motherfucking Lubbock! Regina? Yes. YES, I absolutely want to go to a city that rhymes with vagina. Hell, bring the family! Of course, the reason we’re headed to urban powerhouses such as Kitchener is due to a proximity clause, which involves the summer’s Warped Tour. I’m not a scientist, linguist, or mathematician; I’m a habitual masturbator, so I can’t fully explain whatever that means. All I know is this tour can only play locations you’d probably go to if you needed some sort of illegal back alley abortion and yes, I’ve done the research. But apparently people live in cities I’ve never heard of because the majority of the shows have been bringing out a ton of kids and I like to think that PBC is reaching a whole new audience. But just like unprotected sex will bring untimely warts that you later need to explain to your next girlfriend, along with the good, there has been some bad.

I love Canada. Montreal has the hottest girls that I’ve never, ever spoken to. The titty bars showcase the loveliest strippers with the highest of self-esteem, so I’m told, of course. Degrassi High, as well as The Next Generation, has provided me with countless hours of guilty enjoyment over the years. I’ve never really been to the western part of America’s 51^st state but for some reason, I’ve always wanted to visit Vancouver. Since most of our friends in Living With Lions reside in the area, I was especially excited that our tour would be hitting that exact city. We finally got to Vancouver the night before the actual show. While hanging with friends that night and in the morning, I thought the city looked like a great place to possibly someday live. Like waking up to a pissed bed, the harsh reality of the situation eventually set in.

The venue was in a completely different part of Vancouver. A part of the city we had not witnessed the night before or that morning. Pulling up to the venue appropriately named the Rickshaw Theatre, we unwillingly took in the local culture. Amputees, hobos, drug addicts, and cock whores as far as the eye could see. If I were still in college, this would have been my Xanadu. 105 years later, not so much. Before the show, a couple of us decided to walk around the area and soak in the local scene in order to experience first hand what walking death looks like. Jimmy saw a woman shuffling around with an IV needle protruding from her drug-hungry arm. I, myself, witnessed two drug deals and others observed the actual narcotics being smoked. I even heard tales of two women simultaneously shitting in the alley ways. This was Hamsterdam, but up close and personal. Legend is that if anyone were unfortunate to be bitten by one of the zombies, that person would instantly become homeless and itchy. Once night fell, a pact was made to stay inside and if you had to leave the venue, we promised to use the buddy system. Luckily, all of us left Vancouver unscathed. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Eugene, Oregon.

I think the band Guttermouth said it best when they proclaimed, “hippies smell like shit, piss, hemp, and eggs.” While I hate all populations of people equally, hippies hold a special place in my heart as far as loathing is concerned. There isn’t any real tangible reason for my spite, other than possible beard envy. I’m absolutely convinced that if it were genetically possible for me to sprout facial hair that wasn’t a Frank Turner-esque goatee, I could run for Congress. Or maybe Town Comptroller. Either way, a friend told me that Eugene had a pretty big drum circle population. I thought to myself that night, “perhaps tonight’s show will bring out peaceful moshers only interested in the light show.” Never in a million years would I have expected any type of violence, but everything changed in a split second to the tune of Digital Underground’s masterpiece, “The Humpty Dance.” That night, after PBC’s set, Goose was to be found next to the soundboard “shakin’ and twitchin’ kinda like (his leg) was broken” in an attempt to make Every Time I Die’s soundman laugh. Never has one song been more prophetic, for in the blink of an eye, a filthy dirt urchin came up and pulled a Tonya Harding by punching out Goose’s leg with his fist. Instantly falling to his feet, Goose quickly realized that he had seriously injured himself. Shocked and confused, PBC’s best dancer was carried outside of the venue, so he could be brought to an emergency room. Unfortunately, Goose had to fly home for a couple days later. As of now, his knee is fucked and we weren’t really able to find the dude who assaulted Goose. Luckily, Polar Bear Club was able to stay on the tour due to Dan and Alan of Four Year Strong learning and filling in on the bass duties.

So like every tour, we deal with what is given to us both good and bad. Positives have included the usually warm crowd responses for Polar Bear Club. Also, it turns out that Every Time I Die are a great bunch of dudes who put on an incredible live show. Up until now, I’ve never really seen them live before and I find myself making it a point to catch them every night. And of course, we’ve become even better friends with Four Year Strong and Trapped Under Ice. Four Year Strong in particular have gone out of their way to take care of us and are currently rivaling Broadway Calls as our best friend tourmates. (Step it up, BC) Sure, there have been some long drives, some disappointing shows here and there, and Goose’s soon to be amputated leg, but we press on. As of this writing, we have less than a week on this tour. Truth be told, I’m ready to get home and live like a human being again for a couple of months, well, maybe for a couple days. Speak soon.

If Rob From Ruiner Had A Time Machine

2010-04-05T10:34:00.005-04:00

Note from Trevor.

Does anyone remember that website www.buddyhead.com ? A couple of years ago it was all the rage. There was a gossip section on the site that basically talked shit on bands, celebrities, hipsters, and Fred Durst. It was over the top, hilarious and outlandish. After a while though the funniest part of the site wasn't updated regularly and the product suffered overall. Yes, new entries would come every once in awhile but the joke soon got tired and people began to move on in droves and forget. Well, here at polarblogclub.com we're experiencing the same thing. Basically, the joke is over. I've become tired with this site and so have you. However, since I'm still touring and fancy myself the funniest person I've ever met, I'll still plod on. I just need you to know that I get it. I know I'm on my last legs here and that the earlier stuff was better. But since a couple of us remain I present a guest blog from my friend Rob from the band Ruiner. When I say friend I mean a dude who I've toured with a couple times. He's here to remind everyone that while I haven't written anything of any merit lately it sure as hell could be a lot worse.

Your turn, Robert.

So it took me a while to get started on this. I must begin my guest blogging endeavor by explaining a few things: for all his self-loathing, poor choices in friends, bad decisions in life, and war against sobriety, Trevor is a great writer when it comes to this here blog. I continually read it on tour and have quite the “lol” moments (sometimes at my expense). Not too long ago, while stroking my friend Trevor's (or Tracker or Manager/Baby Sitter to Polar Bear Club) ego, he asked me to do a guest blog because he hit a "creative wall.” I had never written a blog before, but I do love letting the world know the things I think. I agreed, but I needed to ponder what I'd write about. The funny thing is Trevor and I share some similarities. Put aside that he is tall (I am of hobbit height) and he has the physical prowess of a 13-year-old girl (I like the gym), he, like myself, is usually a miserable bastard. Also, we both dwell on the past. So I thought I'd continue the water works about self-sabotage and never getting over anything while it relates to being in a band. (So if you want to read funny stuff about Polar Bear Club, go read the Bridge 9 board. Pretty sure they are on the verge of being voted worst band on Bridge 9 records, next to International Superheroes of Hardcore. Hey, what do you expect, they aren't a hardcore band or Title Fight.

I started playing in bands in Middle School. It was an exciting time for me, blah blah... blah blah. Around that time, I also started wrestling. Now why is this important, you ask? Because between playing in bands and being athletic, I was in good favor for having my penis touched much faster than most. Unlike my friend Trevor, who probably didn't come out of his shell until about the time he got those sweet flames on his wrists. Now don't get me wrong, I was not Mr. Popular. I dressed like a circus clown that listened to Pantera (and still does listen to Pantera). It just so happened that despite my cartoonish appearance, I occasionally had a girlfriend (I'm persistent, like an STD you learn to live with). But like Elvis and so many musicians before/after him, I'd meet the one I shouldn't have fucked around on. She was and still is the most attractive thing to ever be seen in pictures with me. She is also the driving force behind many a Ruiner song. She never did anything wrong, never hurt my feelings or "broke my heart.” The only thing she ever did was trust me. Sadly, I was young and stupid—barely 21. No real excuse other than that. Sit a bag of chips in front of my best friend and band mate Danny long enough, he will eat them. Well in this metaphor, the chips are vagina and Danny is me. The result, however, is not greasy fingers and ruining your dinner. It’s starting a new band and deciding to punish yourself by reliving the moment she found out you cheated on her, most nights for 25 to 30 minutes for the past 6 years.

See, my story is not a sob one. I have no one else to blame but myself nor do I try. I just felt I would write something that relates to this blog, but gives a different spin on why someone can be so miserable. You grow older and stop blaming the world for the bad hand you are dealt. Maybe you weren't that great to the person who left you. Maybe they are better off with anyone other than you. Maybe being miserable isn't a healthy way to go through life or make friends. Too bad I take very little of my own advice.So thank you, Trevor, for allowing me to rant to all 6 or 7 people who read this. I will be awaiting your clever diatribes of loving the “D-man” and how you feel your penis is barely a usable appendage on your person.

Oh and Marathon is one of the greatest bands to ever come out of Upstate New York.

Hello Bastards

2010-03-08T09:35:00.006-05:00

Hello! I wrote this weeks ago but was unsure about actually posting the entry. Why? Well, because it sucks!

Today I write out of necessity rather than convenience or want. Wait, I don't actually need to do anything. I type now only to bury my last blog entry at the bottom of this website. It's time to focus on touring with Polar Bear Club instead of my dying inner child or whatever hippie shit I was spouting a couple weeks ago. It's nine in the morning and I haven't even been back in the United States for more than twenty-four hours. There is a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the room taller than Jimmy Stadt on a good day. I know I have to pay some bills today, maybe get an oil change, and most importantly hose myself down. I won't do any of those errands. Instead, I'll eat a whole pizza in bed (futon), watch episodes of The Wire (Sex And The City), and etch out a couple sentences about the last couple of weeks in Europe with Title Fight and Shook Ones.

These end of tour entries always fucking suck. I'll be the first to admit it. I'll also admit my best entries are the ones that are mostly about me and not Polar Bear Club. But I'm not the reason why you kids come here, so for once I'll try to stay in line. Anyway, these types of accounts aren't as funny because I attempt to throw three to four weeks of hard giggin' into four or five paragraphs. Of course, I do all this after the actual events have occurred. Being 145 years old, this means that I forget most nights and fail to report anything of any actual significance or relevance. This also means that I make a lot of things up. On the flipside, it's important to remember that nothing exciting ever happens on tour. Polar Bear Club is not Led Zeppelin; no one is getting fucked with a red snapper. PBC is more like a straight edge hardcore band, minus the douchebaggery, rather than a 1970's Rolling Stones when it comes to partying. When you add a group of teenage edge warriors named Title Fight to the mix, alcohol consumption (aka wild nights of dick tricks) was at an all time low. But don't get me wrong—this was one tour I had the most fun being a part of.

I don’t like touring Europe and the UK. That being said, I don’t like leaving my house. The reasons I don’t enjoy overseas are trivial and downright absurd. After all, most shows on foreign soil are some of PBC’s best. Promoters and friends go out of their way to take care of us (well unless your name is Tom Smalley). In fact, we’re treated a thousand times better in England than back home in the United States. However, I’m a creature of habit and detest unusual currencies and unnecessary coins. I don’t appreciate having to pay money to urinate on a motorway (I’m talking about you, Germany). And even though the only person I text or call when I’m back home is my mother’s cat, my biggest peeve is that I’m usually without a phone for weeks on end. All of my petty complaints aside, I truly do appreciate the opportunity to travel, and on this particular tour were some of the best shows of PBC’s career.

Due to restraining orders involving teenagers specifically, I’m not sure If I could have been legally allowed within 1000 feet of Title Fight if we went with this lineup back in America. Out of U.S. jurisdiction and on foreign soil, I was lawfully able to perform my tour managing duties. As I’ve often noted, I don’t like music. However, I remember hearing about Title Fight through the hype vine while we were on tour with Ruiner and Defeater during our previous Euro tour. After listening to the band, like most, I enjoyed what I heard. While not a hardcore band, I knew that Title Fight had a huge hardcore following, much like Polar Bear Club had when they first started out. Also, like Polar Bear Club, Title Fight is receiving a lot of recognition and buzz. I think the best piece of advice PBC gave to the TF dudes was to never put out a second record. Because once you do, the kids turn on you. Right, Polar Bears? Either way, if this wasn’t Title Fight’s first time over to England and Europe, it would have made sense to have them play direct support to Polar Bear Club in lieu of their incredible crowd response. Some nights, TF stole the show. I say this without any type of jealousy or animosity because they are a great bunch of dudes, even if they all suffer from the straight edge (social AIDS).

Shook Ones are currently one of my favorite active bands and have been for a couple years now. To me, they put out the catchiest and most infectious pop punk. I’ve seen the band perform at a couple of the Fests and PBC played with the dudes one time in Seattle sometime last year. If you’re an avid reader of this soul stealer of a blog, you know that I often play favorites when it comes to dudes in other bands. This time was no different as I instantly became a fan boy of Shook One’s guitarist, Shitty Steve Guttenburg, aka Funds. Sure, our love of booze drew us together at first, but what really cemented our relationship was on a drunken night in Trier, Germany, it was revealed that we had both slept with the same girl on different occasions. Think about it. One dude from the East Coast, another dude on the West Coast metaphorically and figuratively touching tips inside a vagina somewhere in the United States. All revealed in a foreign land. It’s almost a better story than “The Notebook.” Almost.

Yes, that’s really all I have to say about three weeks in countries such as the United Kingdom, Belgium, Germany, Holland, and Scotland. One paragraph about how I’m an agoraphobic shut-in who hates other ways of life, another vaguely about Title Fight, and a final excerpt about a girl I had sex with and never speak to anymore. If you’ll let me, I will tell you that most of the shows were incredible, especially in Germany and London where all the bands sold out a 500 capacity room. The only blemish on the London night was the overactive stage diver who almost broke his neck during PBC’s set. I swear to God that’s the last time I ever clean up urine that isn’t my own. While I didn’t forge any lifelong friendships like on previous European tours, I still had a blast and thank Polar Bear Club for allowing me to come along and handle money whilst inebriated… And special thanks to every promoter not named Tom Smalley, Stan, Saker, Noodles, Neal, and Leina—thank you the most for making this all possible. See? I’m not all evil.

Morningleaver

2010-02-25T05:22:00.004-05:00

Prologue
I feel I need to explain a couple things before the actual entry below. First off, the following really has nothing to do with the band Polar Bear Club whatsoever, it's once again pretty much just about me. How can one person hate himself so much then go on about that very same subject matter for weeks at a time? It's probably science. Also, I go on a bunch using gross words about feelings and love. Obviously, it's all fiction. I mean, the only things I actually love is a bottle of beer and a nice fuck film. Lastly, I wrote most of this while PBC were in Australia and I took a vacation to the west coast to clear my head. As always, everything I write is all in fun and mostly untrue. Let's go!

Many moons ago, under this cold, calloused shell of mine, once beat a heart that pumped blood instead of an angry, black, jelly-like ooze. I’m talking about the good old days, back when my mane flowed like a Nordic god’s, the bags under my eyes were not yet tattooed on by time, and going against God's natural order, I actually had a girlfriend. Of course, I'm referring to the early 2000's, but as fondly as I remember the era now, not all was well. For instance, Saves The Day just put out "In Reverie," thus beginning an epic meteoric fall into mediocrity not seen again until Alkaline Trio's recent crawl into non-significance. And soon my salad days came to an end. Looking back, I should have recognized this as foreshadowing of bad things to come. (I half take back the Saves The Day/Trio Joke. The STD part I meant but I like the new Alkaline Trio record a lot. Plus, Skiba and I need to meet in order to discuss booze and pills.)

As for the girlfriend angle, well, I don't want to mention her name here or anywhere else for that matter. Based on previous experiences, if you say or type her name three times, she suddenly appears like a controlled hurricane, destroying everything in her way, including my self esteem, mental health, and most importantly, my checking account. But all those years ago, we lived together, liked each other, and even spoke of marrying each other. For about five seconds.

Easily the hottest girl I've ever had sex with that I didn't have to pay, I somehow kept her interest for about a year, which was quite the herculean task considering I most resemble a pint glass full of plain oatmeal. During a time when I should have been concentrating on graduating college and making positive steps towards our future, in the last couple months of our relationship, I instead chose to stay out late drinking, getting high, and ignoring my partner. But none of that truly matters for I'm the protagonist of this story and she's the dirty tramp that left me for another man when we were still a couple.

As I remember, the "man" she transitioned to straight from me was everything I was not. Neck tattoos, edge to the point of overcompensating for other personal shortcomings, mean, ugly as sin, and from all accounts, a misogynist. Ok, well, maybe we both had the whole woman-hating thing in common, but other than that we were like night compared to day. And if you haven't asked yourself yet, I'm sure you will now. The question that must be on your mind - "Why, Trevor? Why are you telling us all this? This isn't a Livejournal account or your junior high diary. We just want to read about Polar Bear Club tour dates, why do you insist on punishing us like this?" Well, if you don't see the similarities between my attractive ex girlfriend leaving me for another and Polar Bear Club (attractive girlfriend) recently ditching their trusty, yet homely tour manager for Australia (straight edge new boyfriend), well, you're just as crazy as a writer still in love with someone that bailed over six years ago.

One thing time has taught me is that I'm the same exact person that I was in the early 2000’s that I am in 2010, except now I live on a futon that isn't even mine. Oh, God, it's happening all over again! Stupid Australia and their colorful and shocking neck tattoos. I already know how I'm going to handle this one, the same way I handled my breakup all those years ago. First, drunkenly and alone, I'll probably hack my way into Polar Bear Club's Myspace and read all about how great, exciting and new Australia is. To my horror, I'll then stumble upon the messages any ex boyfriend or tour manager should always skip. You know, the ones that will go on and on about all the weird, taboo things Polar Bear Club and Australia do behind closed doors. All the acts that Polar Bear Club would NEVER do with me, even after two glasses of wine.

Secondly, time will go by and I'll tour manage or possibly even roadie again, you know, move on and such. Perhaps a younger band. Of course new band won't be as good looking as Polar Bear Club and they obviously won't be looking to settle down, but it will be a nice couple of months. I'm thinking Broadway Calls? Or maybe Defeater, if they ditch Jay Maas, of course. PBC and my new band, whoever they may be, eventually will have to run into each other on shows and probable tours. And yes, it will be awkward. I'll pretend to be having the time of my life, you know, laughing extra hard at the new lead singer's jokes and pretending to enjoy the new band's songs more than anything off Chasing Hamburg. The whole time, of course, I'll be dying a thousand deaths inside knowing that Goose is being told what to do by another.

And who knows? Someday down the line PBC and the drunk formerly known as Tracker may even work together again, much like the ex and I tried to work it out over the years. However, in both instances, it just won’t be the same. You see, life just isn’t like the movies. Up on the big screen, Lloyd Dobler from Say Anything stands outside Diane Court’s bedroom with a boom box outstretched over his head, pleading for his woman to come back and naturally, it just works out splendidly. In real life, well, in MY life, when I pull the same move, the ex girlfriend finishes blowing her new boyfriend and immediately calls the cops in search of an immediate and permanent restraining order. As far as Polar Bear Club goes, we’ll try doing weekend ventures here and there, but after a couple of beers I’ll insist they write down the name of every single tour manager they’ve been ever been with. It just can’t work; jealousy is an ugly monster, but not as ugly as a drunken Trevor.

The thing is, Polar Bear Club and I are actually still together with no plans of breaking up. (Well, until I get my grad school applications of course.) We have a lot of great things coming up, including the “Tour Of Bands I’ve Never Owned A Record By” with Every Time I Die, Trapped Under Ice, and Four Year Strong. Most importantly, I might actually wiggle my way into a pair of shorts for Warped Tour 2010. The lineup for Warped Tour? Well, a bunch of bands with members born when I was a college quadruple senior but I could use the sun. Unfortunately, as far as the ex, well, that never seemed to work out. Seven years later, I only think about her every second, every day. Eventually, hearing "no" was too much and all I could do was hop a plane to the west coast to start over. And with that, well, my flight to Portland is about to board. See you when I'm back, if I come back at all. (Clearly I came back, I’m finishing this up in Germany, nerds)

Shorter, Faster, Sadder 2/22/10

2010-02-22T12:22:00.002-05:00

It happened again this morning. That flash of panic and nausea in my stomach. A couple seconds of bewilderment, confusion and terror. Once again I wake up have no idea where I am. Luckily, this time I came to in a comfortable bed. What I do remember is that I didn’t even drink that much last night - just a couple beers. But this is how it goes now. While my brain deteriorates and breaks off into tiny pieces I struggle to remember most nights and yet I can still recite every word to The Humpty Dance by Digital Underground. I rush to find our tour laminate that lists every city Polar Bear Club performs in. A rush of warmth and calm shoots through me when the note card tells me we are in Rosswein, Germany.

It’s almost eight AM and I hate myself for being up this early. I hate the Shook Ones and Title Fight’s driver even more since his alarm clock is to blame for jolting me up at such an hour. He seems like a nice enough dude but no one should have a Led Zeppelin song on repeat as a way to get up in the morning especially since it took ten minutes to actually do the trick. I wish I could remember his or anyone’s name but once again I blame the drink and the chemically abused brain.

The promoter for last night’s show put every band and crew member up in a hostel located near the previous night’s venue. I search around the room and see Nate in one bed and the driver in the other. I’m starting to remember checking and settling in just a couple hours before. I peer through the windows to discover outside and I’m reminded of winter in western New York albeit briefly. Snow covers every inch of the ground and I quickly realize there is nothing similar between this part of Germany and Rochester, New York. While I’m no expert on the manner, buildings in this sleepy and cozy town look centuries old and distinctively German.

I once again proceed with my morning rituals, which consist of making sure I haven’t lost my passport, wallet, and sanity. Two of the objects I still have. I trip towards the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror again even though I know it’s a terrible idea that I’ll soon regret. While we haven’t been gone even two weeks, I’m already putting on significant booze weight. Before we left for this expedition I spent ten days in Portland, gargling down alcohol and shoving down all sorts of unhealthy food. This trend continues overseas. Shows offer a large amount of free food and enough hooch to take down Matt Skiba in his prime. Every god damn day I tell myself to take it easy, to slow down, but it seems I can’t even breathe without getting a healthy load on. This happens on each tour and during downtime I get back into shape and drop the pounds. However, right after this tour concludes there isn’t any type of break. As soon as we fly home, a couple days later Polar Bear Club heads out for a month with Every Time I Die. Come April I bet I’m twenty five pounds overweight and longing for the days when I could still see my penis.

I love touring Europe and the UK and at the same time I cannot stand the whole ordeal. Shows have been incredible. People are coming out, singing along, and buying merch for every band. Promoters take care of us and cover every guarantee. I’m seeing some old friends but not meeting anyone new which is fine because all I need is my parent's cat Haley. The drives haven’t been that long but I still get anxious and my knees begin to ache while sitting stationary in the van unable to lie down or get comfortable. For some reason a bit of me longs for home. There isn’t a girl, dog, or a life waiting for me there and I don’t know if there ever will be. Maybe it’s my Xbox 360 I miss so much. Remind me to buy her something nice when I get back. Possibly, a sweater for her hard drive. Unlike other tours, I haven’t really bonded with any other bands members. Where is my Frank Turner, my Derrick of Defeater or even Mark of Strike Anywhere? Well, at least Nate’s here. He’ll do for now. I quickly tell myself to grow up, my inside voice shouts “you’re traveling the world and you have a job many people will kill for. Enjoy it while you can”. And I’ll do that today with a large bottle of lager. But for now I’ll try and get back to sleep. Or maybe the Title Fight driver will get out of the bathroom so I can finally touch my dick – the most important of my morning rituals. It's all for you, kids.

I Wrote This Post While NOT Drunk, It's Long And Boring (That's What She Said)

2010-02-19T14:57:00.005-05:00

Listen, I know how you're feeling. I understand that overwhelming disappointment that sweeps throughout your body - starting in your chest an then down to your stomach. In fact, I've caused this feeling before. Specifically, five years ago when Myspace still got people laid. After chatting up a girl on the internet and then meeting the lady for the first time. The emotions the poor girl must have felt when a person resembling a six foot wilted penis spilled into the room. That exact horror and shame must be what I'm putting the readsers of this blog through right now. I'm sorry but there will be no Jimmy today. Trevor is back.

Sure, it was nice while it lasted - video updates and self-confidence. Well, as of a few days ago my sabbatical, my forced leave of absence, my personal time of reflection and marathon masturbation is now over. Much to Emmett’s dismay, I'm back on tour with Polar Bear Club.

This wouldn't be a PBC tour without setbacks, crisis, and general ball break-ery On February 10th our plan was to meet at Emmett's house in Syracuse, New York, sort some merch, sleep for a couple hours and head toward the airport for a 6:15am flight on the 11th. From there we would hop on our plane, fly to America's armpit New Jersey and eventually fly over to London, England. Well, around five in the evening on the 10th it became apparent that snow, sleet, and karma would have a hand in possibly delaying our trip overseas.

In the north east part of the United States that we all live in, winter seems to last ten months out of the year. It’s one of the many elements that lead to my opaque skin tone and general positive outlook on life. New York and the surrounding areas were once again experiencing an influx of snow that was closing down most airports. When we all convened to Emmett’s house early in the evening our plane from Jersey to Syracuse was already delayed four hours. This meant if we waited around for our first flight, we would absolutely miss our connecting flight overseas to London, which for some reason was still scheduled and on time. Added to all of this was the issue of Nate not coming with us at all for the first couple of dates due to a family emergency. So while I knew we would eventually get to our destination, not having Nate around the first couple of shows was a drag since he’s the only one in PBC that still puts up with my antics.

On a night that was as bitter, cold, and unforgiving as a step mother, the Mensa think tank known as Polar Bear Club decided to skip the first flight altogether and brave the elements. Around 1:30am, now on February 11th, we all piled into our van and headed straight to New Jersey to cut out the middleman and just grab a straight flight to London, England. Not really thinking about how much it would cost to house our van at the New Jersey airport for almost a month, Jimmy decided to helm our ship through icy conditions that almost derailed the entire expedition permanently. By this time, I was drunk so I was ready to die if need be. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you’re related to me, we finally made it to the airport alive and certainly not well.

I’d love to regale you with all the fascinating details of the security check in, the wackiness that only a seven hour flight can bring, the vegetarian meal that tasted like chewy, bad sex and the sleeplessness that led to the bags under my eyes being permanently tattooed upon my face but this blog has already gone on longer than anyone would ever want. If you’re still reading this and not jerkin’ it to a big breasted African American on www.spankwire.com, well, I don’t even want you coming to my website anymore. Just know that we made it here alive, without Nate for a couple shows.

I often bitch about how when we tour I never really get to see or experience any sights other than the venue of the city we’re in. While others often get to walk about each city and soak in the local conditions, I instead stay trapped between four walls in a pub, club, or basement. I prefer this since I hate going outside, despise exercise and would rather stay stationary at all times while snacking. However, our fist show was scheduled for Dublin, Ireland. I don’t know anything about Dublin or Ireland other than it’s where Lucky Charms cereal was clearly born but I must admit I was excited about going to a country I’d never been to before. Of course, PBC were supposed to play Dublin a couple times before but for all sorts of reasons I cannot remember, the shows were always cancelled. This was the first show where PBC would play without Nate.

Down a guitar player in Dublin, Polar Bear Club played without Title Fight and Shook Ones. Chris took on all guitar parts while Goose had the freedom to roam around on stage right like a free-range chicken. The venue was a pub with a curious stage that lacked any type of lighting. Luckily, the show was a matinee so daylight through the main window illuminated the bands. Rooted deeply in the back of the venue was yours truly refusing to move or leave the building. However, I did experience a bit of the culture I denounced earlier, Polar Bear Club’s manager bought me a Guinness. Not only am I clearly now an expert on Irish diplomacy, I’m pretty much a US Ambassador on foreign policy.

That night we stayed with a bunch of local new friends and headed out bright and early to catch a boat back to the United Kingdom. By this time due to early ferry and load in times, no one in the band, myself or are driver Stan actually received a proper night’s rest. More importantly, while I had officially been on tour for many hours, I was still sober as a X’d up Jimmy Stadt at age 18. Luckily, the day after the Dublin show was a day off used to travel and hang out with our British parents Niall and Liana. Drunk on pizza and suffering from exhaustion, I showed my age for the first time in years and went to bed at 8:30pm. Boarded up in an attic next to Jimmy, I laid my head down to rest anticipating the upcoming day when we’d finally meet up with Shook Ones and Title Fight.

Still sans Nate, PBC and myself descended upon Manchester, England to once again play the club known as Moho Live. We’ve actually been to Moho twice before. Once to play a show with posi peaceniks Ruiner and once to hang out and drink beers with The Gaslight Anthem. Being a creature of comfort, this night I once again refused to battle the outside elements and plodded down behind a merch table and watched the night’s events unfold. Well, for a good five minutes I did at least. Emmett took over merch duties and I was unleashed into the crowd searching and coveting warmth that only seven to nine beers could bring. Opening band Basement opened the show and primed everyone up for hype machine Title Fight. For some reason kids choose to mosh to Title Fight even though they’re either pop punk or straight up rock depending on whom you ask. Hey, I’m not here to judge considering back in the late 90’s I skanked more than my fair share but at least with those bands there was a horn section. Either way, kids went off for TF and rightfully so. Those dudes are alright in my book, they like Texas Is The Reason. Next up was Shook Ones who as it turns out are one of my favorite bands for the last four years or so.

If you like pop punk or melodic hardcore and Shook Ones aren’t your favorite band you need to sort your lives out. One of the best bands going and the only band I’ve ever seen pull off a Descendents cover, Shook Ones didn’t have quite the energetic response as the band before them did. In front of the stage was an empty area of floor that kids more or less refused to move up in to. Sure, there were a couple sing alongs and finger points here and there but ultimately I was disappointed in S.O.’s Manchester reaction. Shame on you, kids. Lastly, Polar Bear Club sauntered on stage and showed nearly 300 kids why they’re still the king.

Finally, on February 16th in Norwich, England Nate returned to us. Nate and I try and make it a rule to never touch so there were no friendly embraces or pats on the back. Instead, Nate only asked how many dudes Id blown since I saw him last and as always I answered a baker’s dozen. One of our favorite venues, The Marquee somehow allowed almost 200 kids into an area no bigger than most living rooms. This night, Shook Ones got the reaction they deserve and Title Fight once again gave every band on the package a run for their money (whatever the fuck that phrase means). I’m told PBC played their Weezer cover and I vaguely remember an epic stage dive from a mantle. This could all be fiction since I now black out for hours after drink three.

So once again everything is good on this end. Uk kids and promoters really go out of their way to support bands and I’m glad to be back here. It’s exciting to see Title Fight go over so well on their first time overseas. It makes me with Polar Bear Club had done a tour of this type of caliber when we first ventured over. Clubs of this size would have helped us a million times more than the Gaslight/Frank Turner tour, which mostly consisted of large barriers and blank faces. However, one cannot change the past and if I could I still would have banged that hooker in the Netherlands. Speak soon? No, probably not.

Final Aussie Vid

2010-02-06T14:12:00.004-05:00

Here it is, the final tour video from Australia. Enjoy! YouTube won't allow this video to post with audio for some BS reason so it's only going to be on here, sorry. Thanks to everyone who we met and who was involved with the tour. We leave for England and Europe next week with Shook Ones and Title Fight. It’s going to rule! And also Trevor will be re-joining us after our stint down under without him. It’s going to be awkward and all “Do we shake hands, do we hug, do we french?” But I'm confident that we will get back in the swing of things rather quickly (french). Bye for now.

Jimmy

Watch it here.

Australian Tour Entry 2

2010-02-02T20:13:00.003-05:00

Hey there. It’s time for the next installment in our Australian tour videos. I plan to do one more after this but my camera and iMovie have both been kind of weird and flakey (hence the lack of updates). Even in this video the audio gets off a bit at the end but I couldn't fix it because iMovie deleted the project. If I were a douche I would say "fuck my life" but I'm not...sort of. Enjoy!

Jimmy

Watch the video HERE

Australian Tour Entry 1

2010-01-18T17:22:00.002-05:00

Unfortunately as PBC embarks on it's first Australian tour our trusty, lusty, musty tour manager had to stay behind and protect the home-front. He asked me (jimmy) to fill in the gaps of his beloved blog and provide my perspective on the aforementioned tour and the events that follow. I thought it would be a good idea to provide our happenings via my flip cam (Trevor didn't want the internet to think I was a better writer than him...I am). I'll try my best to update and edit has much as I can and also post the videos on our youtube account. For now I've posted a short segment documenting and mockumenting the first day. Enjoy.

Jimmy/Australia/HJ's

2010-01-18T17:12:00.002-05:00

Exciting news! Well, wait, it's neither exciting or news actually. In any event, we all know that it takes me weeks and/or months to update this site and when I do, there's always the eventual feeling of dissapointment when one is done with the entry. You may also be aware that Polar Bear Club is on their way to Australia for a couple of weeks. What you might not know is that they're actually stuck in Los Angeles, California dealing with delayed flights and seperation anxiety from yours truly. I'm not accompanying PBC on this venture which may be the exact reason they're trip has been delayed by at least one day as of right now. A more bitter person might chalk this up to karma for not having me come along but I'd never suggest such awful, awful ideas. That's neither here nor there, cause for the next couple of weeks Jimmy Stadt, lead singer of Polar Bear Club, will be posting up videos and hopefully writing a bit about his adventures on the other side of the world. Enjoy!

2009 To 2010, One Foot In The Grave

2010-01-14T02:20:00.004-05:00

If I were a superhero my extraordinary powers would consist of procrastinating, being late, or just giving up. For instance, it took over six years for me to earn my bachelor's degree when most people conclude in four. Another example, I didn't start fucking for the first (and what feels like the last) time until I turned twenty years old. Nowadays, you kids start with the sex around what, when you're a toddler? Filthy fuck beasts. And as far as giving up, I can't even count the number of jobs I stopped showing up to so I could drink, hang out with a girl, or just masturbate. Where am I going with all of this?

As of this writing the date is January 14th, 2010 and I'm finally rolling out my best of 2009 list. You know like all of those shitty lists you saw on Punknews? Unlike their lists, on mine you won't find the new Tegan And Sara because that shit is unlistenable. I'd rather go back in time and rape my infant self than hear their warbling ever again. (It's ok, I'm an expert on T&S, my sister is a lesbian, it's cool.) While I love the band Cheap Girls, they don't place here because "My Roaring 20's" can't touch "Find Me A Drink Home". American Steel's "Dear Friends And Gentle Hearts" bows out solely because Rory forgot who I was at The Fest and wouldn't give me his phone number. Lastly, The Sweller's latest full length is snubbed because, well, I like chicks. Polar Bear Club? Apparently, it's no longer cool to like that band which is a shame because they put out their best work yet in 2009. In fact, I believe I put "Drifting Thing" on a mix tape or two this year. I just hope that soon Jimmy tells his girlfriend that he wrote that song about me and not her. Either way, they're not further mentioned in this piece because they (sometimes) pay me and I certainly wouldn't want to be biased or one sided.

I really tried to write an actual entry that wasn't gimmicky and another list of things I either love or hate but with Polar Bear Club on break, I have nothing, absolutely zero to write about. I could write about myself but do you really want or need to know that I haven't actually worn pants in about three days? Does it need to be public knowledge that every night after work, I'm so depressed I drink whiskey, alone in my room, until I either pass out or pee myself? YES. YES IT DOES.

But it doesn't. So here is what you get, a list of records I actually enjoyed in 2009. Well, it's a list of records I could make jokes about. Take it or leave it, either way, I'm not putting on pants.

Strike Anywhere - "Iron Front"
I might be in the minority here but I've loved every single Strike Anywhere release, even that last one and uh...the one before that. But sure, I can admit that there was a certain energy lacking as of late. With "Iron Front" everything feels right again except my increasing age especially in regards to songs like "Opposite Number", that one song about oppression, the other one about mean, mean cops and lastly the tune about upping the punx and smashing the state. Sometimes, while playing Modern Warfare 2, a game about murdering foreigners and minorities, I play this record and I know somewhere that Ewok Thomas is smiling.

Defeater - "Lost Ground"
Sure, it's not an actual full length but I haven't taken or passed a math class since the early 90's so who is counting? It's all just space on my Ipod anyway. However, this record accomplishes what every girl in the last seven years has failed at - it gets my dick hard. And speaking of girls and dicks, this record would be ranked higher if Derrick sang about women instead of fictional characters that I don't give a fuck about. I need to hear about shit I can relate to - heartache, mistrust, and gonorrhea. If I want to hear about World War II I'll ask my god damn grandfather. But I can't. Because he's dead. Thanks a fucking lot, Derrick. (Author's note, as I went to publish this entry I've been informed that my grandfather is not dead, I'm just a shitty grandson).

Ruiner - "Hell Is Empty"
Ruiner used to be one of my favorite bands until I actually toured and met them. (To be fair, Rob is really the only asshole. Steve said I looked like Kiff from Futurama so he's dead to me. Dustin fucking rules, their squirrely drummer certainly means well, and other guy is yet to speak to me). No, nothing will ever touch "What Could Possibly Go Right" but this release certainly comes close. Well, a whole hell of a lot closer than "Prepare For A Fitting Album Title" did. For reasons I cannot explain when I listen to this record I feel like

a.)I was born in raised in Pittsburgh
b.)I'm either in a Nine Inch Nails or Tool video
c.) my parents worked in a steel mill all their lives
d.)I hate my previously mentioned parents
e.)I love pro wrestling

All of those add up to a warm fuzzy feeling cause hell, at least I'm not from Baltimore.

Broadway Calls - "Good Views, Bad News"
First off - brutal honesty. I hate the name of this record. Not sure why, it just doesn't grab me by the ass hairs. The name couldn't be more boring unless BC sired the full length "Joe Smith". Also, that one song about Obama or some shit? NO. I don't vote and either should you. Voting is for white people. And soccer moms. However, this is leaps and bounds ahead of their self titled release (especially since there isn't a horn to be found this time round!). Every other song is a pure pop punk gem. The first time I ever met these dudes I hooked up with a hot girl directly following their show. She, like the others, eventually left but Broadway Calls stuck around. Turns out I should have spooned them instead that night. Except, the bassist Matt. He's straight edge. Fuck him.

Shook Ones - "The Unquoteable A.M.H"
Last time Shook Ones came to Rochester, I couldn't go because this girl I used to have sex with was going and we were no longer on speaking terms. I've forgiven Shook Ones for appealing to her and as it turns out, years later I would sex with that same girl in a van. Life is tricky lobster, don't you agree? Shook Ones manage to be catchy and poppy while still coming off aggressive. No, this record isn't as good as "Facetious Folly Feat" but to me, a Shook Ones record is a lot like a blow job. Even if you're not a fan of blow jobs, like me, at the end of the day, hey, it's still a mouth on your penis. Hell, makes sense to me.

Attica! Attica! - "Napalm & Nitrogen"
Aaron from A!A! used to be in a band with Nate and Emmett called Marathon which just so happens to be the best band no one ever gave a fuck about. Marathon got me into touring and along with Aaron are the reasons I'm still stuck in this mess/poor as fuck. One day, I'm going to write about Marathon and what they meant to me, however, that day is not today. Aaron is balder than me so I like to have him around. He's also an inspiration and I recently advised him that when he was done touring, so was I. His latest album is heartfelt, smart and most importantly - funny. No, wait, most importantly it's free. Go to http://www.atticaattica.org/ and offer up a donation if you're feeling snarky.

So there it is, kids. Six records, not the usual ten or twenty you'd expect. Like my senior quote said "I find my life is a lot easier the lower I keep everyone’s expectations". But really, my pornography is done downloading and it's date night with Dr. Three Balls. But for symmetrical purposes, here's my top four records from the greatest punk band of all time, The Bouncing Souls.

1. Anchors Aweigh
2. Maniacal Laughter
3. The Good, The Band, And The Argyle
4. The Gold Record

Thrice Related Blog Post...

2009-12-07T01:29:00.005-05:00

...at a different website yet again. http://www.bluntmag.com.au/
I'll post it here as well in a few days. They left out all my hyperlinks but they're Australian criminals so they cannot be faulted. Thanks to Kelly and for everyone for reading.

Ah, fuck it, I'm posting it now.

Here we go, kids. My name is Trevor. I don’t know any of you and you certainly don’t want to know me. However, I work for an American band called Polar Bear Club and in light of their upcoming visit to your lawless country, I thought it best we get better acquainted. Well, I’m not actually making the visit in February, I’ll be back home too busy enduring a soulless winter and working a separate job that along with alcoholism and a pack a day cigarette habit will surely acquaint me with an early, much needed grave.

As an icebreaker of sorts, I thought I’d spin together a couple paragraphs about one of our recent trips out. Literally days after spending an entire month on the road with hippie drum circle all stars Strike Anywhere, Polar Bear Club felt it was a good idea to once again climb into our filthy sink hole of a van and head towards the West Coast with some band called Thrice. Nine shows all together, the first starting in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and ending not even two weeks later in Anaheim, California. Sounds pretty wild, right? Well, not actually. If I were to compare this tour to an ex girlfriend, Thrice dates would be Denise. Ah, Denise. On the outside she seemed like a good idea. However, behind closed doors Denise was a complete bore in the sack. In fact, I’ve fucked corpses with more signs of life.

One of the biggest (only) perks of touring with Polar Bear Club is we often tour with bands I’m already a fan of. Such has been the case on dates with Strike Anywhere, Gaslight Anthem, American Steel, and Broadway Calls. This means during downtime, I can always sneak away from my business duties (beer) and sing along to some of my favorite songs. This time around, was a bit different. No offense to the guys in Thrice but I’d never, ever actually listened to the band. I absolutely do not know one song by them. This isn’t an affront to the band itself or any of the members, I just happen to only give a damn about Avail, pain pills, and light beer. At my advanced age, I have no time to add a fourth interest. So since that perk was missing, I had to look to other avenues for fun.

I continue to tour because I love all (some) of the dudes in Polar Bear Club and believe in their music. Like everyone else in our camp, I hoped PBC would draw a significant and dedicated crowd each night. When PBC goes over well, I feel much better about my life choices as well as theirs. There were a total of three bands on this particular package with Polar Bear Club opening up first. Most shows began an hour after door time, which meant PBC was lucky enough to usually play to a packed room. As it turns out, other than a couple of friends, no one was there early to ensure they caught the opening act’s set. It was more a matter of arriving in order to get the best position near the front to catch Thrice. Of course, playing to sold out rooms has its advantages. While most of the faces in the crowd were glazed over with eye lids half shut, one hopes that the name Polar Bear Club will stick in the minds of either the under 18 and close to 30 age demographic that made up each night next time we come to town. Plus, unlike our previous tour, no one fell asleep during a PBC set or texted while sitting on stage as PBC performed. It’s the little things that make life such a delight, kids. Ok, let’s see here. So I don’t know any songs by the headlining band and Polar Bear Club is getting a lukewarm response most nights. No worries, I’ll find a dude in one of the other bands to hang out and get sloppy with. I WILL have fun, like it or not.

With such a short span of tour dates and long drives, for the first time ever, I wasn’t able to really bond with any other tour members. For one, Thrice was on a gigantic tour bus as big as your continent. I don’t bring up the bus as an insult, If I had the option, hell, I’d have two tour busses – one for me and one for my ego. I guess I just missed past tours where all the bands toured in vans and were forced to sit in a common dressing room, like it or not. That way, friendships are forged faster and common interests are shared. Since Thrice spent most of their time on their Death Star sized vehicle, I wasn’t able to really communicate or actually learn anyone’s names. For the first time in my life I actually missed touring with such bands and Ruiner and Crime In Stereo. Both being bands we’ve toured with extensively and shared many a cramped room with. However, those nostalgic moments were fleeting and quickly forgotten when I was able to take a shower backstage without Rob from Ruiner trying to capture dick pics on his cell phone.

With all the bitching I’ve done here, one would think there weren’t any highlights. Or one might think I’m just a complete asshole who likes to hear/read himself complain. While that may be the case I’m quite grateful to all of Thrice’s crew who went out of their way to help us out in all facets. This includes Thrice’s tour manager who absolutely took care of us and treated us like a co-headlining band. Every night we had enough food to keep all of our bellies full and enough beer to keep me drunk enough to not quit PBC and go back to University. We’ve been on bigger tours before and hands down, this is the best we have ever been treated. And that’s really all there is folks. Nothing too shocking, revealing or even excited. But most times, that’s how tour is - like boring sex with my ex girlfriend Denise. The real story of this trip actually began right after our last show with Thrice in California. Immediately, four of the six PBC dudes hopped in the van and drove two days straight back to New York with very little sleep. And if you’ll have me back sometime, I promise gory details of debauchery. Nope, that’s a lie, more boring sex.

Down With Women, Up With Dudes!

2009-11-19T18:06:00.007-05:00

Often, I get told my show goers and friends that I don’t update my blog enough; that I need to write more. Well, after explaining that I don’t owe them a fucking thing, I also point out that I’m actually on pace to write more this year than I did last. I then kindly ask my detractor to “suck it” and I make my way to the nearest bathroom stall to either cut or purge. But here’s an offering to satisfy the seven readers that are nice enough to check in with me every once and awhile. No, it’s not a blog about our current tour with Thrice. I’m delivering that piece to some Australian rag I’ve never heard of or read for my friend Kelly. This is absolutely not about Polar Bear Club’s tour with Face To Face and Pegboy, in fact, I’m never going to write about that experience. Why? Well, I drank too much and ingested too many pills to remember even one date. Call me King College, fuckers. The following is more fodder until someone starts paying me for this shit. Then and only then will I put in effort. Be nice.

Every tour there's usually one dude in one of the other bands that we're on tour with that I hit it off with really well. Imagine that, dudes liking me but not women? Shocking! Either way, I don't mean in a "Yo, lets do a standing 69" but more in a "Hey, let's drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes, and make fun of Chris Browne." In most instances, Nate gets really jealous for a couple reasons. First off, Nate thinks he's my best friend (untrue) and secondly Bastard Nate believes I actually steal these dudes from him. Nate delusion-ally believes the cool dudes in the other bands should like him more than me. Joke's on him, I'm a drunker, cooler James Dean and Nate's like a shittier, less funny Urkel. The following is my list of top dudes in other bands we've toured with.

1. Frank Turner - This is a weird one because Frank and I don't have much in common. Frank is highly educated whereas Trevor doesn't know the difference between their, there, and they're. Even the mere mention of the word alcohol gets Frank drunk and stumbly while I fancy myself a bit of a boozehound. Frank wears white Jnco's and may get a perm every six months. Me, well, I wear pants that are too tight and haven’t had hair (sex) since the late 90's. Somehow though we looked past our difference and oh fuck it, Frank's on Epitaph and I want to meet Milo. That’s why he's my number one dude-man.

2. Every dude in Broadway Calls. Ok, so we're on tour right now with Thrice somewhere in California. I was sitting behind the merch table when a lightning bolt of panic struck me from out of nowhere. I forgot to put my homeboys in Broadway Calls on my list initially. A mistake such as this is worse than a mother murdering her own children. Ty, Josh, Matt, Lazer. I'm sorry. Yes, I'm hammered right now so this makes no sense. Anyway, the first time we met Broadway Calls they played with us at the Westcott in Syracuse, NY. I didn't hang out with them that much because, per usual, I had my eyes on a devil woman that turned me into a weeping mess for a couple months. Anyway, that soul sucker is gone but Broadway Calls remain.

3. D-Man of Defeater - Unlike Frank, D-Man and me have a lot in common – self hate, a drinking problem and we’re both really annoying when drunk. Another positive is that Derek is covered in horrible tattoos that make me feel a lot better about the shitty ones I have. He’s like a third degree burn victim but with ink instead of scars and grafts. Derek would have made it to the top of my list I he were currently returning my text messages. But really, check out the new Defeater record, it’s incredible. I hear the lyrics are about a character in a Dean Koontz book Derek once read.

4. Sleazy aka Alex of The Gaslight Anthem. Once upon a time, Polar Bear Club toured with the biggest band in punk rock/rock and roll. Well, twice in face. Sure, they might deny it now but it did happen. Ask Frank Turner, he was there. Anyway, during our two tours, Alex, the bassist, took a liking to me. Not sure why, really other than we shared a common love of rejecting reality and instead choosing a tour life of whiskey and red bull. Often, well, quite often, when I needed a stiff drink, Alex was there to make me a cocktail stronger than my love off big assed porn. I don't think you've ever seen two bigger opposites attract in a total non sexual way. Ever see that Saturday Night Live skit with Patrick Swayze and Chris Farley as erotic dancers? It was exactly like that. The ripped and buff Swayze as me and Alex as Farley of course. If you haven't witnessed what I speak of, check it out here.

5. Mark of Strike Anywhere. Strike Anywhere was one of my first favorite bands. The band used to play Rochester, New York on what seemed a daily basis and everytime I was there up front singing along. In fact, the first time I ever stage dove was at a Strike Anywhere show. But none of that matters because Mark wasn't in the band then. Mark wears funny hats and clocks in at about eight feet tall. On stage Mark resembles a giraffe in head to toe long johns. So why does he make it on my list? Well, when I was out of cigarettes he'd bum me a couple. It's the little things, kids. Give me cancer or liver failure and we'll be friends forever.

6. Joe of Four Year Strong. I've never heard the band even though we toured for over a month with the band. I'm told they get ragged on for the type of music they play. Don't care. I stopped trying to determine what was punk and what wasn't around the time my hair began to fall out from dying it too much. The only time I ever even use a studded belt anymore is when I'm spanking a dude on the ass with it. Soak that image in, kids. But yeah, the common theme here is booze and smokes. Joe and I love to drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes and play the bass. Well, I own a bass. Doesn't mean I play it. On that note, check out my band Mayflower, I play bass for them. I once made Brian Fallon of Gaslight listen to us and he almost quit music.

PS. Honorable mentions go out to Joe from Set Your Goals (mostly because he's at the show tonight), Baby Bradley formerly of The Swellers, and Aaron from Attica! Attica!

Issue Oriented

2009-11-10T23:31:00.001-05:00

New blog up at a different website, check it out.

http://www.issueoriented.com/justoneblog/trevor-backer-tonight-is-alive-pbc-fest-8/

Cut Yourself To This

2009-10-15T19:23:00.003-04:00

Wrote a couple days ago, don't really remember when....

Today I woke up earlier than everyone else, per usual, in a hotel that actually resembled a small apartment. I vaguely remember what living with your parents ISN’T like so I absolutely know what I’m talking about. Yes, on rare occasions Polar Bear Club will spring for a place to sleep that isn’t a friend or total stranger’s hardwood floor. The way I see it, even a fat girl needs to feel like a princess every now and again.

The last two nights I’ve taken it a bit easy on the booze. Not a conscious decision really. It came down to not being able to bring beer out in front of the club near the merch table. Either way, I rolled out of bed surprisingly not hung over but with a pain in my heart and a bag of fluid in my chest. After pushing Jimmy back on to his side of the bed and off of mine, I stumbled to the bathroom and hacked up a rope of neon green phlegm so thick one could probably climb a tree with it. The aching in my knees has returned and at times it’s hard to stand in the shower. When I’m feeling especially romantic I liken myself to a prizefighter that has hung on way too long and yet still there is some fight left in him. Once that happens I smack myself in the face to remind my failing brain that I’m just a drunk with a pack a day smoking habit that has nowhere else to go.

Of course, once again, like every single morning, the thoughts start to creep in like a drunk Nate Morris in the night. The doubts and second-guessing. As I stared at myself in the mirror noticing the bags under the eyes getting blacker and deeper I wondered – “How much longer can you keep this up for?” “Are you still enjoying yourself?” “Are you doing a good enough job?” “Is it time to go back home and get back into school?” “Every single day you’re getting older, your life is on pause, what the fuck is next?” Other than fist punching my dick and brushing my teeth this is my daily routine.

On long drives and time spent alone I often question where members of Polar Bear Club are going with all of this as well. Jimmy, Goose, and Nate are all involved in serious relationships back in their respective homes. Emmett has a child and well, Chris has his collection of piss jars and his right hand. I wonder why any of them would risk losing the ones they love the most by spending months and ultimately years on the road as traveling salesmen in a profession that almost guarantees failure. After these brief couple of seconds where I’m not actually thinking about myself for once I remember that these younger dudes probably still have hopes and dreams - an ultimate goal to provide a better life for themselves as well as their partners. My goals? Well, I accomplished my ultimate achievement in the year 1999 by finishing 24 Genesee Lights in 24 hours.

So while members of Polar Bear Club are sprinting towards something, I on the other hand have been running away since 2003. I believe that was the year the person I fell in love with chose another and ever since then it’s been a life of substance abuse and the beginning of an epic losing battle between adulthood and myself. Other than parents and a sister, I have nothing back home anymore besides crippling financial debt, a car that I barely even use and a pile of stroke mags. I think the main difference between everyone else and myself is that if I had someone who preferred me to others, I’d probably never leave home again. But my family is on the road, which is a terrifying thought because I hate 80 percent of these fuckers. I once heard home is where the heartaches so all my insecurities and doubts make perfect sense. But the thing is this – every night when Polar Bear Club performs the goose bumps still appear. The butterflies in my stomach still take flight and the pain in my chest is replaced with an explosion. I might be running out of breath but I still have a couple rounds left.

Some Trevor And A Little Bit Of Jimmy

2009-10-12T01:23:00.004-04:00

10/08/09 Cleveland Heights, Ohio

Kids, your father had a late night last night and needs his rest. If you as so much breathe heavily, I’m going to smack you and your sister in the mouth, you got it?

I’m hung-over as shit, nothing new there. Currently, I’m typing behind the merch table at a venue in Cleveland Heights named Grog Rock. This venue is actually a lot like the type of girl I’m attracted to – small, dirty, shitty and can fit a lot of dudes inside her.

(Trevor left his computer open at this point and I (JIMMY!!!!) took over the blog posting. So what’s new Internet? Have you missed me? I know you have. I’ll make this brief before Trevor comes back from smoking. Here’s what’s new with me. I really got into the show Tim and Eric on adult swim, I’m on a quest to beat every high-score in Pac-Man across the country and I miss my dog. Ahhhh here comes Trevor. Follow me on twitter JIMMYPBC. Trevor touched me and told me not to tell!!!!)

Jimmy’s short and rarely funny. Anyway, so here we are in Ohio. Last night we were in Pittsburgh and before that, well, I can’t tell you a thing. I may have mentioned before either through twitter or my diary here about how much I enjoy the city of Pittsburgh. I have a couple good friends that live there, it looks like it can take a good punch, and even though I’ve never experienced a hard days work in my life, I enjoy the city’s blue-collar exterior. All of that being said, shows in Pittsburgh fucking suck harder than my prom date with my best friend during Senior Ball. PBC have played a bunch of shows in Pittsburgh, in fact as recently as a couple weeks ago, and no one ever really gives a fuck. Venues ranged from an art space that a troll with gargoyle fingers lorded over to two separate churches that were far too large or had idiotic drinking provisions that kept each show nice, awkward and standoffish. The only reason I should be in a church is for my eventual funeral in 2010 so I insist PBC quit playing that city. What!? We’re coming back in November?! Fuck my dick!

(Trevor left me at the table again and thought closing his computer would stop me from doing this, it didn’t. Anyway, real quick, ten minutes ago I hid Trevor’s beer from him and stood a couple feet away to watch him look for it. WOW, I’ve never seen him more determined and hard working in my life. If his job consisted only of finding beers…wait a second… sincerely, average height and always funny guy)

God dammit, Jimmy. I’d like to point out that I left this time to restock merch, not to smoke again. It just so happens though I did have a smoke while doing that. Ok, moving on. Usually, after each Pittsburgh show PBC dudes stumble to some bar named Rugger’s where we drink to forget, order fried food, play punk music on the jukebox that Browne has never heard of and hang out with good friends (Dan Rock, holler!). So other than Mark, guitarist of Strike, calling me The Crypt Keeper, the night and tour is a total blast. After the bar closed we all climbed into Strike’s hobo wagon and tried to come up with reasons why Rob from Ruiner is so angry. I proposed the theory that Rob actually has some sort of tail that he’s embarrassed and shy about but that wasn’t the popular opinion. Some or all of this may not have actually happened or perhaps I'm just projecting, either way – so far, so good. Turnouts have been great, merch sales are up even with the worst t shirt idea of all time (see above), and the dudes in Strike Anywhere are old but certainly not partied out. However, next time you see Mark from Strike, please remind him Grunge is dead, he’s not in Pearl Jam, and long john’s on stage is never acceptable. Buy me a beer.

Leeds Fest, Kind Of

2009-09-26T14:49:00.013-04:00

I'd rather see my mom's best tit than attend, play, or crew for any type of fest again. Or at least that's how I felt while flying from Denver, Colroado to Manchester, England. Ok, here's the plan - four weeks of tour with Set Your Goals, Four Year Strong and Fireworks, hop on a plane literally hours after the Denver show, fly for nine or so hours, touchdown in England, drive immediately to Leeds and play a set on the first day of the annual Reading and Leeds Fest. Terrible fucking ideas all around but that's what Polar Bear Club did.

Before I dive into the actual fest, let me bitch about the flight overseas. Why bother to complain you ask? Well, I'm a spoiled, white, undeserving asshole. Let's just say that previous in flight entertainment to England has provided myself and PBC a seamless trasnsition into other countries and timezones. On past flights I've had my choice of all sorts of movies, episodes of Scrubs and Friends, and even music all at my fingertips due to television screens built into the airplane chiars. I planned on TV being my only solace; television would get me through this permanent zombie like state insomina had placed me in. What's that? Read a book? Fuck you, I graduated college, I'm never reading again.

Stepping on to American Airlines flight 54 broke my spirit more than any she devil ever has (yep, even more than you S). Immediately I knew there wouldn't be any quality entertainment to be had because there were communal tv's with pre arranged movies to be shown. It was as if everyone on board was being forced to share and use the same toothbrush! Briefly, I considered asking the stweardess what year it was. I believed it to be 2009 but it felt like 2003 on that rikshaw with wings. The twist of the knife that was firmly placed in my spine was the reveal of the movie we were forced to watch - 17 Again starring Goose's favorite boy toy Zac Efron. Old enough to me married with at least three children, there I was viewing a movie catered to girls aged 9 -15 years old. However, my love of the body swapping movie plot (i.e. Dream A Little Dream (saw it in the theater), Vice Versa, Like Father Like Son) and a shirtless Efron resulted in a curious erection that kept me watching the whole time. Of course, I love the movie and plan on watching it again but the point is I should of had a choice!

Oh, right, Leeds Fest. Of course I'd never experienced any event on this level or capacity. Sure, I went to Warped Tour from 1996 - 2000 and I've been to the last three Fests but Reading and Leeds is a complete different animal - numerous statges, world known bands, and of course six sleep deprived Americans, five of which had to perform hours after flying over the Atlantic Ocean. PBC was to play on a "smaller" stage which housed mostly the more aggressive type bands such as A Wilhelm Screm, Rise Against and Thursday. The stage itself was a large tented plot of land that at capacity would still allow thousands of people. The more expansive mainstage delivered Radiohead and a bunch of other bands I don't give a damn about. Rainy, wet, and soggy. No, not my underware but rather the theme for our visit to Leeds. However, sunshine, dry ground and complimentary toothy blow jobs probably couldn't have changed my miserable dispostion that day.

We're all fortunate to have made good friends in the UK and Europe and while I was looking forward to seeing everyone, I was more interested in seeing the band Snuff and going the fuck to sleep. But it is always my duty to play the part of drunken clown no matter how out of it I am. So, per usual, I began to drink around eleven in the morning or so. Polar Bear Club actually got their own trailer to hang out in for a couple of hours so most time was spent inside hiding from the rain and cold. I say a couple of hours because once Set Your Goals showed up, it was time to get out and let them take over since they have five lead singers and all. But before all of that and before Broadway Calls showed up to eat all of our free food, Polar Bear Club actually performed a show. The stage was called Lock Up and PBC was the second band to play, the band The Computers were first. Obviously, everyone in the van was pretty drained and Goose's bass equipment failing didn't help the entire situation. Pretty sure Goose wasn't able to play a song and a half due to his amp blowing up and the inept stage crew who weren't able to see through the smoke that the fog machine was pumping out to offer any type of help. Me? Well, I'm a story teller, not a bass tech. So coupling the equipment malfunction, the exhaustion, and the KISS-esque stage show PBC's set was good but could have been better.

And yes, I did manage to catch Snuff as well as Set Your Goals and maybe even one more. Who knows. After that it was off to our friends Neal and Liena's house to catch up on some much needed sleep. For the first time in forever I was actually passed out by 7pm. Years ago, when I fancied myself a punk my friends would always shout their battle cry "Sleep when you're dead!". Well, fuck that, now that I'm older I go by the creedo "sleep when you're tired". The spiked belt and ambition is long, long gone. And that's really it kids. I didn't say I was going to revolutionize the internet with this entry. It's just a couple paragraphs about some show months and months ago. Time willing, I'll get around to spitting out a couple words about Reading which took place the next day. Until then, I hope you're all listening to Defeater and not Paramore.

This Distance Is Going To Put Us Under The Ground

2009-09-09T19:28:00.011-04:00

I don't even know what this next entry is about. I found it in a stack of papers along with a bunch of bills that I've been neglecting since last month. Actually, it's sort of about our last night on tour with Set Your Goals, Four Year Strong and Fireworks right before we left to headline a couple shows overseas. There are a couple of scribbles that I've been meaning to throw up on the internet but that's kind of hard when you no longer have a working computer. I'm actually typing this up at my other job on the company dime. Hopefully, this will get me fired or institutionalized. As always, this wasn't proof read. Also, Ted AB, if you're reading this, move along. My blog isn't funny anymore, remember? Go work on yours instead, those three readers from six months ago can't be left in the dark forever.

Things got pretty stupid right before we left for our flight to Manchester, England. No, not stupid in a "Oh, man, Goose just shat in a Pringles can" but more like "Fuck, I haven't slept in four days" type dumb. What sticks out in my mind the most was the drive from Salt Lake City, Utah to Denver, Colroado which is around nine to ten hours, I don't really remember. Right after the SLC show it was around midnight and we decided it was best to get the fuck out of that shit hole. The show sucked - no one cared about PBC, a barrier bigger than my student loans was in place, the face tattoo to no face tattoo ratio was too incredibly high and their booze had a lower alcohol content than in other states. Fuck you and your made up religion, Utah!

I don't think the initial plan was to drive the entire trek in one shot but that's what happened. Come 9am the next morning I'd been hallucinating for the last couple of hours. Sure, I love a break from reality like most people but when you end up drawing a smiley face on your hand and end up discussing with Mr. Happy whether Valerie or Brenda was the bigger bitch on 90210 , you know it's time for a nap or hibernation. After checking into a Motel 6 and catching two hours of sleep it was off to PBC's final show on the Gig Life Tour.

So hey, I'm a huge pussy who was raised in the suburbs and I probably met my first person of color in the 11th grade. That has nothing to do with my story today, I just wanted to get that off my chest. Anyway, the Denver show was in a pretty fucking sketchy area but I did experience the pleasure of a man wheeling by on a bike offering me crack rock. A different one toothed hobo with a hell of a switch blade "asked" if he could "model" a PBC shirt strictly for our benefit. It broke my heart to turn down such an incredible offer but I did. My favorite street urchin was the one third navajo, one third canine, one third land beast of a woman who offered to fly all of us on her back to Manchester, England for free. Ok, that last image may have been a result of insomnia but I still considered the kind gesture for over five minutes.

The Denver show appeared to be fun, I wouldn't know for sure, I was busy packing records all night in preparation for our flight overseas the next morning. When I wasn't shoving vinyl into cardboard I was loading the trailer whilst fending off zombie homeless people. Maybe you should ask Emmeett how the show was. He seemed to be enjoying himself while sucking down Newcastle's and noshing on pizza. Or perhaps ask our merch guy Gay Dan who three way kissed a pack of tramps and later ended up digging out one of the previously mentioned slags. God, I hate women. (jokes!) But seriously, years (hours) spent behind the merch table has not once yielded me any type of vagina or even a pleasant coversation with a woman. I blame my parents for getting high on mescaline, touching wet spots and producing me - a cross between a bald Finch from American Pie and a harlequin baby. Wait, add a social anxiety complex, bad tattoos and a fear of growing up and we'll call it a day. As of now my cock is announcing its retirement. He'll only unretire when I have to piss or when the bandage needs to be changed.

Of course the last night of tour was bittersweet. Everyone on tour were genuinely great dudes who all looked out for us. Easily, the best support tour we've ever been a part of (Go fuck yourself, Gaslight!). Either way, after the show, all the bands ended up at Denny's which luckily enough was right next to our motel. Well, not everyone went to Denny's, Gay Dan was busy fucking. But it was late, real late and we were to catch a plane to England in a couple hours. Apparently, Set Your Goals were too as well but I'll let them start their own blog and tell that story. At some point I'll write about the flight over Reading and Leeds Fest as well as my hatred towards fests in general. When? Who cares, I don't owe you shit!

Oh, I was going to add a top five list of dudes from other bands that have become "my boys" but I think I'll just have that be an entry that I'll post sometime this weekend. And lastly, if you don't get a kick of what I write about then just don't read. Most of this shit is made up anyway, it's all in fun. Enjoy it or I'll stop drinking.

***You may notice a new design at the top of this pile of shit. Well, like the last design, it's by my friend Teddy. Polar Bear Club should use his work for t-shirts, don't you agree? Check him out here http://tedcasper.com

God, What A Mess, On The Ladder Of Success

2009-08-19T21:43:00.004-04:00

The following is one of the many (three) blogs I wrote down on a legal pad while in the United States and overseas. I'm poor so I don't own a Macbook Pro, instead I am the proud owner of a HP Pavilion that seems to break if I even look at it too hard. This is actually the second time that my laptop has shat out on my whilst on tour. Sure, some might blame it on all the porn I download but if that's the rationale, why does my Blackberry still work? So now that I'm back home from tour I'm going to type up everything I wrote while out for about the past five weeks. Either way, HP can suck my sad, sad dick. Apparently, I wrote this first entry on the way to Phoenix. Either way, the new Polar Bear Club record comes out tomorrow. Buy it and maybe PBC will be able to afford me a new computer.

I start once again in the van paper and pen in hand speeding towards Phoenix, Arizona where the promise of 100 degree weather and swamp ass awaits our arrival. I write now with a heavy heart and a badly bruised back.

While in Orlando, Florida a couple of PBC dudes and myself were hanging hard with of friends of Emmett's and Nate's while everyone else on tour went to a waterpark to swim around in a pool of cholera and hepatitis. Even though I went to school for almost a decade, I'm not a doctor but I'm 99 percent sure that's how you get scurvy. Older men such as Nate, Tre Money (me) , and Emmett don't even own bathing suits or enjoy large groups of white people. Plus, much like a Gremlin, it's essential that no water touch my china doll white porcelain skin. Chris Browne opted against the water par, too, though I'm not sure why. As I've mentioned before Chris Browne may have been hatched or created in a lab so perhaps he didn't want to reveal his gills, tail or possible cyborg parts. So instead of of getting a sunburn we collectively did our dirty laundry that accumulated over the weeks while Chris Browne ran into a parked car at 7/11. That's not my tale to tell but what I can tell you is this - the city of Orlando currently owns my brand new Buffy The Vampire t shirt that I had planned on wearing everyday whilst on tour. I left it at someones home and my will to live is about as strong as my desire to tour with The Swellers again - non existent. I'm not sure where I'm channeling the strength and fortitude to even put my thoughts down on paper. I'm a martyr first and a bad lay second. For sure.

Now kids, I've only stage dove a couple times in my life - a Strike Anywhere show, Holly Springs Disaster and maybe at a couple other shows. I don't have health insurance, my bones are actually made out of balsa wood and I don't enjoy people looking at me (EVER) so the desire to toss myself of an elevated stage has never really appealed to me. But friends, beer does weird things to/for me. It gives me courage, strength and the idea that I'm the funniest guy in the world. Of course, beer has also led me to the bed/lair of 200 hundred pound ladies on more than one occasion. (Don't judge me, I love to hump.) Either way, the other night in Dallas Texas booze was once again my catalyst for another bad life decision.

Obviously, I don't remember the specifics of this show but I do recall the venue was quite expansive and packed full of kids. With a diet whiskey and coke in my right paw I stood behind the merch table towards the back of the room next to Old Man Morris and Emmett "I remember my first beer" Menke. Four Year Strong was midway through their set and everyone off and on the stage appeared to be having a blast. I like fun (and weird porn) so I matter of factly finished my adult beverage, tossed it to the floor and announced my intentions to stage dive. Nate didn't care and Emmett was drunker than a sorority girl with an eating disorder so I led my one man wolf pack to the front of the club.

Two keys to a successful show - no security and no barriers. Luckily, the Dallas venue lacked both which was a bit surprising considering how large the room was and how many kids attended. With most of Set Your Goals on the side of the stage watching Four Year Strong once again kill it, I pushed aside a couple dudes, broke into a trot and lept into the air like a gorgeous and liberated gazelle. While in flight, most likely reminding everyone of a mental patient escaped from the local nursing home, I silently hoped that kids 15 years my junior would aide my flight of fancy. And they did. The first time.

Fueled by bottom shelf liquor and a proverbial fuck you to gravity, I decided to have another go with the whole stage vs. man thing. People are always saying that the first or original is always better than the second in regards to movies, sequels and remakes. Well, if my first stage dive was The Matrix, my second was The Matrix Reloaded. Clearly, the kids wised up and realized I was truly not one of them - I was an impostor. During mid jump I noticed kids running for cover as if someone had just thrown a single turd in the middle of the crowd, which in retrospect I guess I did. Creating a whole in the push pit larger than the ones in my brain and scab like liver, I fell flat on my back onto a slab of concrete. Lacking the ability to physically move, the motherfuckers who refused to catch me were now pulling me to my feet in an effort to take out the trash. Maybe it was the state of shock or the alcohol in my blood but I was yet to feel any pain resumed watching Four Year Strong will uttering to myself "fuck the kids".

Slowly but surely as the pain increased over time I also noticed lacerations on my back and I began to bruise up like an old banana left out in the sun. For a couple of days I was pretty tore up and had a hard time sleeping. Perhaps once or twice I begged for sweet lady death to finally end this charade of a life. On the plus side, I complained enough to get out of loading the van for a couple of days - a luxury Browne and Emmett seem to escape everyday. I wonder what their secret is? A week and several non prescription pain pills later I'm absolutely fine. Every once and awhile I'll get a severe jab of pain in my lower back but I figure that's Death's way of telling me we'll be hanging out soon and I'm more than fine with that. But really. Fuck me. I managed to write a whole blog about a misplaced t shirt and a cramp in my back. My dad almost died of heart failure a year ago and here I am bitching about a single bruise. I'm an asshole and I'll be going to hell. I'll save you a seat.

Ok, to end this entry we're doing a new list of PBC members. However, this one differs from the others. While in the van, whomever drives gets to choose any music they want to listen to on their Ipod through the stereo. The following is a list of Ipod selections I can handle the most to least.

1. Goose - I'm the oldest dude associated with Polar Bear Club and Goose is the youngest yet we have the most in common musically - New Found Glory and hardcore. Also, a couple minutes ago we were singing Dashboard Confessional to each other as if we were two overweight girls wearing jelly bracelets and black eyeliner. God, I'm going to marry that kid someday.

2. Emmett- Emmet has an older Ipod touch that doesn't hold many songs but he does have a lot of Face To Face, Samiam and As Friends Rust which are all my favorite bands. However, when he drives we hear the same shit over and over. Ok, we get it already, you were punk before all of us....change the record.

3. Jimmy - This is wear it gets a bit tough. I like Jimmy more than most but i don't really like his music selections other than the lovely and talented Taylor Swift. I've never really looked through his Ipod but I'd imagine it only has bands with the name Jimmy in it i.e. Jimmy Eat World and Jimmy's Chicken Shack. Egomaniac.

4. Chris Browne - Chris has an 80 gig Ipod and the only band on it is Minus The Bear. Pass.

5. Nate - Nate is poor and doesn't own an Ipod. Currently, he's borrowing my mother's. After shows, if you need to get ahold of Nathan, you'll find him looking for change between the couch cushions in the green room. Well, change and dignity.

Call It An Evening, Just Not Well Spent

2009-08-11T19:49:00.004-04:00

Hey! We're On Tour With Set Your Goals, Fireworks and Four Year Strong!!!!

There are so many god damned dudes on this tour and I can’t remember anyone’s name as of yet, this being day ten or eleven of tour. With band and crew I’d estimate around 30 different swingin’ cocks are traveling from state to state and unless your name is unique i.e. Fister, Dick Punch, Shark Tooth or Rib Eye, I’m not going to remember a Chris, Mike or Tim. I’m absolutely incapable of learning new information. When new data comes into my booze soaked brain, old info is pushed out and I’m not willing to risk losing the memory of that one time I put my penis into a va-jay-jay. Sorry Fireworks, I know we’ve toured before but please understand I have no idea what your names are – hence the blank, spaced out stare on my mug every time we speak.

During July on our month off I began a diet and exercise program in hopes that when tour began in August Jimmy would finally notice me. In total, I’d say I dropped around 13 pounds. Well in less than a week most of that girth is back where it belongs (my mom ass/child bearing hips) and Jimmy and I’s brief dalliance has once again hit the skids. I’ll be alright though; I just woke up in a Motel in St Petersburg to my main man Goose aka my forever number one PBC dude. Aside from the intense heat and me sweating harder than Chris Browne at the mere mention of the word vagina, I’d have to say things are going pretty well for PBC and me on tour. I say myself because we brought out a skinny Englishman named Luke to sling merch thus allowing me to creep about in the deep recesses of each club on the hunt for free alcohol. As of yet I haven’t been able to liberate much booze but I’m pretty sure I turned up that kidney that failed Emmett a couple years back.

And as far as Polar Bear Club, crowd reaction is ultimately positive and enthusiastic. The kids at each show usually consists of tweens and older teens dressed to the nines in neon pink and greet but it seems while they may be confused over their sexuality, they’re pretty positive PBC sounds like nothing they’ve ever heard before . I don't know what the last half of that sentence even means. Anyway, the only downside at shows is that each night, the two hottest girls at a show, with their ages combined, still wouldn’t equal a legal age for me to touch sexually. I’m going to jail. But at least PBC kids are quite easy to spot. Yep, they’re the overweight, womanless, bearded dudes sweating alone in the corner wondering if they came to the right show. I don’t know why I just wrote any of the last couple lines, none of them are actually true. I just like to hurt and creep people out. I swear someone touched me as a kid.

I’m going to keep this entry quite short because my computer is about to die and we’re almost at the venue. We’re actually headed towards Metairie, Louisiana today. That part in the beginning about waking up in St Petersburg was actually from a couple days ago. My writing process, much like my fucking, consists of starting an entry, napping, sweating too much, napping some more and eventually finish with all parties involved forever scarred and dissapointed. So the first paragraph is from awhile ago and the rest of this garbage I’m just making up as I go in the van about a week later. As far as the show tonight, Polar Bear Club played the same venue whilst on tour about a year ago with The Swellers, Broadway Calls, and Crime In Stereo and in all seriousness about eight kids showed up. Now that we cut all that dead weight from that particular tour package, maybe tonight we’ll get sixteen. Worst news of the tour though is tonight’s venue prohibits alcohol. New slogan for the south…..The South, Where We Still Enforce Prohibition And Hate Blacks. See you soon, my pets.

Favorite PBC Member List From 1 - 5
1. Fuck those guys, they won't even give me a copy of their new album. Go listen to my real friend Frank Turner

Always Mailing It In

2009-07-30T23:45:00.006-04:00

A couple weeks ago I started to write up the events that took place on PBC's last UK tour with fellow Bridge 9 bands Ruiner and Defeater. I dug out my notes, read through them and realized I'd pretty much used the same exact jokes in the previous blog I posted last time I was bored enough to log into blogger.com. Sing my Friday nights now consist of working until ten, consuming a pint of Cherry Garcia and watching either Buffy The Vampire Slayer or "Love Actually" on reapeat, I now have all the time in the world to scrap the original UK tour wrap up and start anew. But fuck all that, I don't remember a god damn thing except the following details. You're welcome.

UK Bridge 9 Wrap Up
A man crush was developed between Defeater lead singer D-Man and your friend Tracker. Jimmy from PBC became extremely jealous and somehow developed the first known case of simultaneous bulimia and anorexia in an attempt to win me back. D-Man and myself talked at length of getting a studio apartment together but alas, tour ended and so did that dream. I haven't talked to him since. In my eyes, Jimmy is still yesterdays news.

Rob from Ruiner was usually pissed about something and then took to the stage shirtless singing his angry songs about how much he hates cats.

On some night I was at my most obnoxious at perhaps drank too much. Nate tried to choke me to death while Goose played my beer belly as if it were some sort of pale, flabby bongo. I later went on to flip Goose's mattress at a hotel, spill water everywhere and grind chips into his hotel room rug. For about one day Nate and Goose didn't talk to me.

So there you have it, that's all you get and now we move on. In the beginning of July, after a Foreit gig, I was at my best friend Goose's apartment in Syracuse for a bbq. Everyone's favorite hardcore frontman Ted from Another Breath showed up on his Vespa and was kind enough to inform me that my blog was no longer "fresh". Per Ted, my little journal here had run its course. Ted owns an iphone and went to an expensive college so I immediately knew he was correct. So, I was actually going to change things up a bit and write about that one time I exchanged money for sex acts but then I realized the world isn't ready to hear about my penis that's been in a permanent state of hibernation since the early 2000's. (Think Han Solo frozen in carbonite). Also, fuck Ted AB. The result? More of the same kids. Here's how I spent my summer vacation with a couple cameos from the dudes in some band called Polar Bear Club.

All sorts of weird feelings have been swirling around in my big ol' giant bald head as of late, I gotta tell ya. After months and months of time off (weeks) Polar Bear Club and myself leave tomorrow afternoon for a lengthy tour of the United States. Summer is almost over and I'm starting to get anxious and tense. As Fall approaches I feel like I'm preparing to go back to college. Instead of waking up next to a random dude and sleeping through my 8am remedial math class like in the old days, on tour I'll be up by 6am every day thanks to Nate's deviated septum. While at college it was the Dean of Arts and Sciences I had to beg for forgiveness and rentry after scoring a 0.33 for the academic year of 2002. But come tomorrow, after spending all of the merch money on ribs and corndogs for prefrosh Goose and Super Senior Me it's Professor Menke and his T.A. Jimmy I'll have to answer to. If I could have somehow relate Chris Browne as the Bursar to tour life this whole paragraph would have turned out a lot funnier. But here we are again, both writer and reader are both left wanting more.

Earlier I mentioned that this post was going to be about how everyone spent their July/summer vacation. That's not going to happen since I barely talked to any of those dudes while I was at home. So here's what I did - I worked. As per usual, my employer stole tiny bits of my soul and desire to live on a nightly basis - nothing new there. To tell you the truth, if I had written this out about a week ago you'd all be getting an entirely different attitude out of me. The longer I'm home, the longer I think about perhaps actually acting my age and finally growing up. You know, quit living like a borderline hobo, go back to school, get a place of my own again, and finally buy a Boston Terrier that I'd name Larry Bird. Keep losing the hair, finish the ongoing physical transformation of human to turtle, and continue the streak of not having a girlfriend in over two years going strong. However, the eve of tour with bands I've never actually heard besides Fireworks, I am a changed man! Well, sort of. Wait. Here's to changing back to my old self and here's to digging my rut even deeper. This I promise you....every night I'm going to be a sloppy drunk mess. Every night I'm going to sweat and leer over girls ten years my junior. Every night I'm going to annoy the piss out of Emmett Menke. Every night I'm going to promise Nate that tomorrow is the day I finally quit smoking. And every night I'm going to feel like the luckiest dude in the world because I'm surrounded by the best dudes and best band currently in punk rock. While home I dropped a couple pounds. By the time this is over, I'm ballooning back to 200 lbs. Why? Because while I might hate myself, I love booze and burritos.

Oh, I did see Chris Browne a couple times while home and he was nice enough to pose for me as I took a picture of him, check it out here. Please know this entire entry was just a vehicle to post that link.

This entry may have sucked but the next couple of months won't. I mean, I get to see Face To Face for about a week! Touring until the end of the year, dates up at www.myspace.com/polarbearclub
Here's to living forever. Or at least two more years, whichever comes first.

Take It Or Leave It

2009-07-07T21:21:00.012-04:00

God dammit. This thing is still here? People aren't checking to see if there is an update, are they? Well, this is the last place I want to be. No, I'm not talking about work, I'm talking about blogger.com That reminds me though, god, fuck work. Only about an hour or so until I'm free of the soul crushing. Of course, around these parts hours last longer than seasons. From here on out I'll be referring to my job or work in general as "Dream Ender", cool? Ah, I've already started to drone on. As I was trying to say, I don't want to write anymore. Yes, it's mostly due to laziness but there's another factor hindering my ability to hunker down in front of my computer. If I were an actual writer I'd probably call it writer's block but since I'm a bull shit hack and grammar con artist I'll just call it - "I'd rather play video games".

Of course there's a flipside to all of this - the fact that I crave attention. Positive, negative, unhealthy, healthy. Any and all of it - give it to me. So if I'm going to get anyone to stop by this here http://www.polarblogclub.com/, I guess I'm going to have to scribble out a couple more stories/lies. Please understand that the timing of this entry has everything to do with PBC's recent seven inch and Strike Anywhere tour announcement. But I'm pretty sure you knew that already, I'm a part of you. Think of me as that piece of food in the back of your throat that you just can't swallow or hack up, only balder. Actually, I'm sort of still working on an entry that vaguely summarizes and wraps up out last l tour of the UK with Ruiner and Defeater. Well, that piece is currently located in the back of my car trunk (next to the chopped up hooker) and I’ll be damned if I go outside for you people. So instead of finishing what I started, per usual, I'll just start a new couple paragraphs about our recent "adventure" in Erie, Pennsylvania and Canada. Take it or leave it, that's my new motto!

Little weekend "tours" do as much for me as non anal porn - nothing. Of course, it's great to get out of town for a couple days. You know, get away from the wife, the kids, the corporate office. Wait, I actually mean the parents and the sexless boss. Seriously though, I've been to Switzerland. You really want me to get off the futon and head to Erie, Pennsylvania? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Free beer? Ok, I'm in! Actually, even leaving my town for a couple hours is completely worth it. It's just tours are more fun when you're gone for an extended amount of time with other bands you know you need to watch every night. This time around, PBC was doing a date with Everytime I Die, playing a Canadian Fest and then finishing the weekend in Toronto with a bunch of bands I'd never heard of. However, as often is the case with me, after having a negative outlook in the beginning, I ended up having the greatest weekend of my life. (That's a complete lie, the best weekend I ever had consisted of watching every Star Wars movie back to back, LSD and a complimentary hand job. More on that....never)

Our little adventure begins in a little city called Erie in the state of Pennsylvania a.k.a. the state that never seems to end while you're driving through it. Either way, Erie is a city best described as "filmy". No, not because Erie would be a great place to shoot a film but rather due to the layer of filth or film you're encased in as soon as you enter the premises. That's an extreme exaggeration and I'm not sure why I wrote that. I guess I'm just feeling mean. Headlining the show was Everytime I Die a band I have no interest in and a band that didn't seem to have an interest in meeting any of us. Ah, no worries, I'll just drink in the van instead. Luckily for us (me) there was a bar right across the street from the show. Pennsylvania is a strange place that sends mixed messages. It's like that girl who lets you slap her boobs around for awhile but refuses to kiss you. In the Keystone State you can go into a bar and smoke yourself silly but don't you dare try to buy beer from a gas station. Instead one must either go to a beer store or purchase take out beers directly from previously mentioned smoky bar and that can be pretty pricey. While I am the smartest man of all time, I am not the richest. However, I'll always sacrifice money for my disease so the remainder of my evening involved drinking van beers and not watching one single band. Of course this meant that I skirted one of my many, many responsibilities - the selling of the merch. Well, it was way too fucking hot in the venue anyway and a girl my size shouldn't be subjected to such bands with such big X's around their names so Goose was kind enough to pull double duty as bassist and merch gal. As far as PBC, well, technical issues combined with a lot of time off equaled a pretty shaky set - good but could have been better. This is coming from a guy who doesn't even play an instrument so you know my opinion matters.

After our brief visit in lovely Erie, PBC was scheduled to perform at an all day fest called S.C.E.N.E in St. Catharine’s Canada. Because you never know what the border police are going to throw at you we all got up bright and early just in case Chris Browne decided to lie to an officer again. As it turns out getting into Canada took little effort and now the only anxiety I was to face was at the actual venue. You see, I fucking hate all day music events. Everytime PBC plays one I'm constantly on the verge of a panic attack. Most times these events are poorly organized and I spend my time running around, sweating, sober and actually working. Well, working for a good 15-20 minutes and then getting drunk but believe me, I sweat! And how! I'm told there were over 150 bands playing all on the same day in all sorts of venues in and around the stage PBC played at. Of course, there were only a couple bands I had any intention of catching, those being Cancer Bats, The Artist Life, The Flatliners, and....well, that's about it. Thanks to my new best friend Goose "merch mogul" Henning, I was able to actually catch one of those bands! Clearly, I watched Polar Bear Club; they were on the main stage which was both exciting and awkward. PBC played earlier in the fest and being on the main stage meant that a lot of people who had never seen them before were able to watch, like it or not. But along with this came a large stage, larger barrier, and general ho-hum response from the crowd other than the diehard mainstays. In a smaller venue with no distance between band and crowd, sweaty dudes piling on top of each other, and Jimmy shirtless, I think PBC would have gone over well. So well in fact that the last sentence I just typed wouldn't have sounded homosexual at all. Other than the mild disappointment of not running into a cast member of Degrassi: The Next Generation and piling up a bar tab close to 100 Canadian dollars (daddy gets generous, as well as touchy, when sauced up), everyone had a lot of fun and ran into a lot of good friends. Overall consensus? Success!

The next morning I woke up on a couch hung over and swearing to myself that I was not going to drink that day. PBC had a photo shoot to pose all pretty for but other than that we just needed to get to nearby Toronto for the show with Carpenter, Sights And Sounds and a couple of other bands I cannot remember due to my pickled brain. Our friend Travis was putting on the show at the Kathedral, the same venue PBC played at on the Have Heart/Trapped Under Ice tour this past March. Considering the close proximity of Toronto to the previous nights SCENE fest in St. Catharine’s, no one was really sure how the show’s turnout was going to be. To be honest though, I didn’t care whether five or five hundred kids were going to show up because Travis provided us with a Mexican dinner and I made a death pact with myself to overdose on guacamole. The show did start slowly with only a handful of kids watching the opening band. The drunker I became, the more the venue began to fill up. At the end of the show there were at least 120 kids all psyched to see PBC, Carpenter and Sights And Sounds. Briefly, I considered stage diving for Polar Bear Club due their great performance and fantastic crowd response but then I remembered I prefer to sit on my ass instead of moving, so sit I did! Earlier in the evening, however, I did waddle up towards the front of the stage to watch Carpenter a band I’d never heard of until that night. Mix vocals that sound like non shitty River Bed era Small Brown Bike, a love for John Mellencamp, and straight up indie rock and you’ll get Carpenter. I often talk about how if I ever owned an Ipod again I would only fill it up with Johnny Cougar so you know I loved this band. Check them out if you can.

The ride home from Toronto back into the United States proved uneventful and I drunkenly slept away yet another van ride. Proving yet again that I’m only lying and hurting myself when I promise to not drink that day, your friend Tracker eventually ended up at my parent’s house and back into the loving folds of my girlfriend – the futon. And now here we are at home, bumming around until tour with Set Your Goals, Four Year Strong and a bunch of other bands I’ll not watch while drinking beer in the van begins. No offense to either of those bands, I'm sure they're great but I only care about Avail and booze. I’ve been working at Dream Ender, Emmett had his wrist operated on, Goose is busy being my number one PBC’er, Jimmy is in Washington, DC and for the rest of the guys….well, I forget their names. I’m sure they’re both working hard wherever they are. Hopefully, I’ll manage to find some time before we leave again to pop out a couple more blog entries that use the same old jokes you’ve heard a hundred times before . Hell, perhaps I’ll even get around to wrapping up the UK tour. Until then, listen to Samiam.

Dear Diary,

2009-06-02T11:38:00.006-04:00

I hate tour Trevor. Everyone else probably does too but I'm not about to take a band poll. Whenever we head out for a substantial length of time I turn into an excess monster. Booze, food, cigarettes. I must consume all of everything. This usually turns into self hate around one week in and that pain can only be medicated with the previously mentioned vices. It's a vicious cycle that will only end when I die of a heart attack or when PBC breaks up, both of which will happen within the next two years. Sure, I could do the right thing and start making small positive life choices everyday but then I'd be a completely different person than who I am, an adult if you will. But we all know I am absolutely not a grownup. Think of me as a Peter Pan without the tights and flying, well, without the flying.

Tour is almost over, we fly home this coming Friday and then it's back to real life for a couple months. The pleasant surprise of the week is the crowd reaction Defeater receives opening up the show each night. Surprising because this is their first time over here, not because they're a terrible band. I'd go as far to say that they're my new favorite hardcore band, a spot that once belonged to Ruiner....awkward. Lead singer D-Man opens up each set each night with a cry for attention, er, solo type song on his acoustic guitar before the entire band breaks into one of their songs of the full length Travels. I'd love to give you a break down of their set list each night but I don't actually own the album. I mean, I have Witness and My Love, My Way so I figured "Why get the third?" Hey-o! (You see, the joke here is, Defeater is a Modern Life Is War rip off band)

Last night, for the first time in my life, I was in Scotland. On the drive to Glasgow from wherever the fuck we were the night before, green pastures and sheep went on for miles and miles. Unfortunately, when on tour there isn't much time to take in local sites and landmarks, the only site seeing is done from a tinted van window. This is better than nothing and will have to do for now. Yesterday, for maybe the first time ever, I thought to myself about how lucky I am to be able to venture all across the globe all thanks to punk rock and my best friends, well, business associates. Then I began to feel a tad bit guilty for the opportunity I've been given when there are people in my life who truly deserve the chance to get away from the crushing weight that everyday life brings down upon oneself. Specifically, I'm talking about my parents. Whereas they struggle to make ends meet everyday, their ungrateful lot of a son, a son who refuses to grow up or move out, gets piss drunk every night and alienates most people around him. So of course the self hate began to creep in again and how did I handle such feelings? Well, as always, I drank enough alcohol to medicate a cutter and threw beer bottles, pork chops and oranges off of a fifth floor apartment we stayed at that same night. Why? Because I'm an idiot. Clearly, I've revealed way too many personal thoughts and feelings in a public forum and D-Man just gave me whiskey. I guess it's time to start the downward spiral again tonight. Sorry Mom and Dad.

(Hi, Sarah S., you big brat)

Untitled Because I Can't Think Of Anything Witty

2009-05-28T09:19:00.002-04:00

After an uncomfortable attempt to take a nap I now find myself hung over, cranky, hungry and headed towards Bristol for day three of Polar Bear Club’s UK tour with Ruiner and Defeater. I’ve borrowed Goose’s Ipod since all I have on this tour is my mother’s Shuffle (thanks, Kate!). So now you know where I’m at, tell me what you’re doing, my dear reader. Oh stop, I don’t want to know. We can all agree I only care about myself and my drink.

This morning I was looking at my blog and noticed there haven’t been many updates recently or in general. The last thing I ever want to do is write. Or move. In fact, my only current interests are Sex And The City episodes on my computer and snacking. I absolutely do not wish to accomplish anything. I suppose it’s this attitude that has landed me surrounded by eight dudes, forced to sleep standing up with the gentle tug of nausea and vomit at the back of my throat. My lack of comfort is your reward so here we go.

This tour can already be deemed a personal success because I did not pass out in the aisle of the plane unlike our last trip over the ocean. While once again I did get drunk before our flight, I decided to switch it up and not take sleeping pills as well. This was my key to avoiding another public humiliation. Ok, break time from writing, I’m getting car sick. And we’re back! The lot of us arrived in London around 10pm this past Friday. I must say my now favorite airline is Continental based solely on the in-flight television choices. At my disposal were episodes of Friends, Scrubs, and House – all three of which I watched. Everyone else in PBC watched He’s Just Not That Into You, well, except for Goose whose television was broken and this small detail made me smile wide. Goose can be a mean little man child who WILL say terrible things about one’s mother. Be on your toes.

Let us fast forward a couple days mostly because I forgot I even started an entry. Here we are now in Birmingham, UK and it’s been a couple of great days. Kingston, Bristol and Brighton were all great shows put on by great promoters. I haven’t been behind the merch table since we brought along our friend Tom who has dutifully handled the aspect I avoid most tours. The cluster fuck of the tour was clearly in Leeds where PBC, Ruiner and Defeater all played Slam Dunk Fest. If you’re unfamiliar with Slam Dunk, it’s basically a one day Warped Tour that goes all day and night. This particular year, the fest took place on a college campus with bands playing in different rooms all within the same building. For some reason kids here actually give a damn about Cobra Starship and Anti Flag so the event brought in over 5,000 people. This was the first time I had been on university ground since early 2002 so I quickly declared myself “Big Man On Campus” (aka B.M.O.C) and drank enough free beer to kill a fraternity president.

While pulling myself out of haze and stupor brought on by Heineken as well as underage hot girls, I managed to catch PBC’S full Slam Dunk set which went over splendidly. The room PBC played in had at least 125-150 on lookers. Stage barriers seem to be common place at shows over here in England so like any event where Goose is involved there was a touch of awkwardness. While I absolutely intended to catch Ruiner and Defeater that day there was just no way to maneuver around the building. If a fire had started, the Great White incident would have seemed like a carnival or birthday party in comparison - a birthday party with happy clowns, not the scary kind. So what I did instead was sit in the backstage room and take in my surroundings. Surroundings which included dudes using devices to straighten their hair as well as products to sculpt previously mentioned hair. Hardcore lives.

Over the process of this entire week Emmett, PBC’S drummer, developed either another testicle in his wrist area or perhaps was bitten by a spider because he has a large growth/infection near one of his hands. Personally, I hope he was attacked by a spider whilst sleeping because it’s always been my dream to witness an obscene amount of arachnids crawl out of Emmett, it’s just who I am. Either way, Emmett has been in pain this entire tour. No, not the pain brought on by unrequited feelings for his tour manger – actual physical issues. The goiter/spider nest got so bad that he had to be brought to a hospital today, the night of our show in Birmingham. Basically, Emmett is going to be ok but just to be on the safe side, he won’t be performing tonight. Thankfully, Defeater’s drummer Andy is filling in for a couple songs along with our merch dude Tom who will handle the rest of the lot. While the set will be shorter, I don’t think the 25 kids who actually showed up tonight will mind too much. Adding to the uncomfortableness is a stage barrier as tall as Jimmy’s ego. In fact, I’d rather have my parents catch me touching myself (again) than sit through tonight any longer. On the bright side, I’m now camped out at the merch table, drunk and bored enough to actually ramble on a bit.

But here’s hoping Emmett starts to feel better. Even though him and I fight the most out of anybody and even though he used to live in my ex girlfriend’s vagina for awhile, I guess he’s grown on me these last five or six years. And speaking of growing, I’m in love with all the Defeater guys – mostly because more than half of them booze it up. Plus, they’re all attractive dudes, especially Shitty Dan Yemen aka Mike. Sure, all of Ruiner is also fantastic dudes but Rob scares me more than my credit rating and student loan debt combined. So here’s to the rest of tour where my quests to either marry or impregnate a slightly chubby girl with an accent continues. The following is a list of my top 3 bands Polar Bear Club has toured with. This list will change the world and break the hearts of others.

Broadway Calls – Ask anyone in PBC, I can’t remember anyone’s names. It’s due to brain damage brought on by excessive drinking but I guess that’s not a reliable excuse. Broadway Calls is a three piece and only travel with one other person. Thankfully, I can handle four names. Well, no, not right by now but maybe later tonight. The easy list of names accompanied with lead singer Ty being the type of guy you want to move to New Hampshire and start a life with put Broadway at the top.
Living With Lions – As I’ve mentioned in a previous entry, Lions party as if it’s their last night on earth. No, I don’t remember any of their names but last tour we did with them, one of them smuggled a condom of weed across the Canadian border just for the story. That sounds like something I would do if a.) I did any type of drug or b.) ever used a condom in my life.
Anybody not named The Swellers.

Back To The UK!

2009-05-21T16:02:00.002-04:00

So we're leaving early tomorrow to go do this! Excited to see our friends again, tour with two great bands, and spend money I don't have! Lots of new US tour dates up at www.myspace.com/polarbearclub, check it out! Oh, I'm sure you heard that Strike Anywhere signed to Bridge 9 as well, stoked! You know who should tour together soon......hmmmm

Here's What I Remember...

2009-05-11T23:51:00.007-04:00

Las Vegas is a hell hole. A hell hole I could find myself spending the next 30 years of my life in, if I wasn't going to choke on my own vomit within two years. Sure, it's hot as fuck but in my fantasy life in Vegas I'm a complete shut in. Days are spent in a large hotel suite surrounded by mountains of fast food wrappers, empty whiskey bottles, and prescription pills. Wait, trade the hotel suite for my room at my parent's house and I think we're talking the same thing. Even my fantasies are depressing.

So our time spent in Las Vegas wasn't that different from the sad and horrific fantasy described above except that it was the complete opposite. The actual show in Vegas brought out around fifty or so kids to see all the bands. I can understand the low turnout, in Vegas there are more important things to spend money on such as whores and booze. Plus, PBC has only played the area once before so all in all, the show went over quite well. While at the show, both Living With Lions and Bi-Polar Bear Club decided to go in on a cheap hotel in order to get to know each other a bit more sinfully. Two rooms were booked for seventy five dollars apiece - one room for each band. Everything was done online so we had no idea exactly how big or how small the rooms would actually be. Personally, I was hoping the quarters were so tight that I'd have to use Goose as a mattress or blanket. I love young dudes. Moving on...

Rolling into the hotel, Bally's, like a pack of rabid hobos, we waited for Emmett to check us in. Excitedly he told us that our rooms had been upgraded for some reason I forgot to inquire about. It was for free so I didn't much care, I'm not a details person. It was time to get upstairs in order to see what awaited us. Unlocking the door, PBC were greeted with a room that was bigger than my house. And by my house, I mean my parent's house. A quick scan of the room revealed a view that overlooked the main strip, a bar, multiple televisions and enough couches to house every member of the band and myself. The room stretched on for as far as the eye could see and the best part was we had only seen half of place! Heading down a hallway led us to a king size bed, more couches, another television, a tub, shower, bathroom and a bidet for Goose! All of this for 75 dollars! The joke of the night was that we were living like Motley Crue circa 1988 and made a grand total of 80 bucks at the show earlier in the night.

I don't ever gamble, I already have too many addictions but this night I felt the gentle tug of Gamblor at my wallet. Heeding the call, a couple of us quickly went to a casino that was selling one dollar margaritas. Once again, I was doing something I usually don't do which is drink shitty frozen drinks but I needed to feel loose and pretty before giving away my last twenty dollars to either a blackjack dealer or slot machine. So after a quick taste, it was off to Living With Lion's casino of choice, Harrah's. While that crew bellied up to a blackjack table I took my spot at a penny slot machine. Being the infant that I am, I'm attracted to noisy, shiny, tall things so the choice was obvious. Nate was kind enough to explain the rules of the game as well as sit next to me at the other gambling machine. I put a dollar in and about 45 minutes later I was up 25 dollars. On the other hand, Nate hadn't won a god damn cent but he felt the need to tell me how much he hated me for accumulating a tiny fortune. I attempted to explain to him a person such as myself who has been cursed with male pattern baldness and the penis size of a Ken doll, deserved a little luck but he clearly wasn't hearing any of it. Who the hell knows where he stormed off to. Actually, who the hell knows where I went because the next thing I knew it was nine am, I was in the king sized bed alone, I stunk of cigarettes, stripper, bile, and bad decisions. My 25 dollars I had won earlier was long gone and all I had to show for it was a blaring headache and a ever expanding beer gut. I blame it all on Living With Lions. Two hours later we were on our way to Phoenix, Arizona.

Ah, Phoenix. Your 107 Fahrenheit weather on a day where I was still drunk and slept only a couple hours is what really drew me to you. Well, actually, I was looking forward to the show since the last time PBC played the area, the show went over really well with at least 100 kids coming out. At that time we were on tour with Broadway Calls and Crime In Stereo but I liked our chances with Living With Lions even if they are filthy Canadians. Arriving a bit late due to issues that had nothing to do with being hungover, panic mode struck when the promoters explained to us that not only did the venue lack any type of power or electricity but the whole city block was out as well. With no time table whatsoever as to when power would be restored, all we could do was wait it out and hope for the best possible outcome. Sure, events like this happen all the time but I think we were all hoping for a relaxing last day of tour.

Thankfully, the show was booked by really great promoters who with the help of a lot people, were able to move the show to another venue. In fact, the new venue was actually the same as the venue we played last time. (This paragraph is going to have the word venue in it a lot.) Unfortunately, changing show locations meant the first two opening bands weren't able to play due to the show also now starting much, much later. But when life hands you lemons, I like to make lemonade. By this I mean, there was a bar really, really close to where we were now so Trevor sauntered over and tied on a legitimate buzz. So at least we have that. Fifty or so kids were sincere and kind enough to stick around for a show that was now starting about three hours later than it should have. So, kids and Phoenix promoters - thank you.

I'd love to tell how you the actual show went but I was nowhere to be found. I wasn't at the bar either. I was off sweating somewhere, who knows, maybe the merch table. What I can tell you is that I was dreading the end of the show. Not only would Polar Bear Club be saying goodbye to our new best friends in Living With Lions, some of us would begin a 40 hour drive straight back to our homes in Rochester/Syracuse, New York. Why? Well, Mother's Day was coming up. Emmett, myself, Goose, and Jimmy were all shot out of vagina's so we were nominated to head back home on the suicide mission. Nate was flying to New York right after the show in order to see his very talented girlfriend receive a prestigious award for journalism (Hi, Jazzy!). Chris Browne was either hatched or developed in a lab so he was to stay in Phoenix. He may or may not be there still. I hope to write about our trek back home within the next couple of days but the weekend is coming up and you know that's when Daddy plays. (Most unsettling sentence ever written?). I'd like to think the best part of that tale is me getting behind the wheel of a van and trailer for the first time in five years. Talk to you then.

I'm Too Old For This God Damn Shit

2009-05-07T23:38:00.003-04:00

I’ve spent the last 45 minutes trying to connect to this person’s internet. I am my father, minus the heart condition. Technology now confuses, enrages, and saddens me. Here I be in Los Angeles, typing away at a Microsoft Word document hoping that someday the internet will return to me. Instead of sending very important business emails (saying hi to my mom), Trevor finds himself listening to the Archers Of Loaf and telling himself this is the day he finally stops drinking and smoking. Per usual, I am the only person up even though I wish I wasn’t. A quick turn of my head to the left reveals a slumbering Nate Morris who is snoring and wheezing away like a basketball slowly losing all its air.

I flew in to Seattle two nights before our mini tour with Living With Lions actually began. I met up with Polar Bear Club who was putting their finishing touches on their latest full length which as of now is still untitled. (My vote is for either” Led Zeppelin V” or “He Who Is Sick of Weird Al Is Sick Of Life” but no one tends to listen to the alcoholic) These boys have spent the last month or so holed up together in very tiny quarters smelling each other, hating each other and recording a song or two. I knew if I disturbed their habitat chaos would ensue. You ever hear about how scientists or anthropologists sometimes stumble upon a civilization that has been untouched by the outside world for thousands of years? Well, this was the same think except not at all. So I just peered in to take a look at the barbarians and luckily I wasn’t spotted and nothing was thrown at my beautiful face.

Earlier in the tour, whilst boozed up, apparently I declared myself the only living party animal left. Nate tells me I slurred a pretty boastful line claiming that “I’m the only party animal here, the rest of you are extinct.” Well, this animal needs to be euthanized. Tonight, I feel like someone sucked out my insides through a crazy straw. I absolutely refuse to drink or party tonight and it’s all the fault of Living With Lions. They’re either too young or too Canadian. I just can’t keep up. You can call me Slurms MacKenzie for I am partied out. Well, at least for tonight. Well, at least until the show is over. Well….

Our shows have been going over well with at least one hundred kids in attendance. Hanging out with familiar faces in Portland has been the highlight of my trip as of now. Meeting two of the nicest metal dudes of all time was an extra treat. New friends in Anaheim and Hollywood, especially the ones who bought me beer, also brought a rare smile to my mug. (Thanks Steinmoney, step up your game Felicia.) A couple more shows and then it's back home to the land of the futon and suicidal ideation!

Now earlier I mentioned that I was writing this really early in the morning and I had just woken up. That isn't true at all. The truth is that we're in Las Vegas, Nevada right now. It's about 90 degrees but don't worry, I'm dressed in long sleeves and a winter beanie. I gotta hide the shitty tattoos and the hairline of my grandfather. A large pair of sunglasses and an umbrella would probably protect my china doll like skin but that may be a tad bit ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as the captain's hat Jimmy has been wearing. (Hollywood changes people) Soon, the show ends and I find me a hooker. Not for me. No, no, no. For you, my readers. Where's that beer?

One time Polar Bear Club played a show with Third Eye Blind....

2009-04-27T23:48:00.010-04:00

...and it makes for an incredibly dull and dissapointing story.....

Not that long ago I still had a pretty big chip on my shoulder. Trevor thought himself to be "too punk" for certain bands. It's not like I was running around with a tri hawk and an Aus Rotten back patch but, you know, too cool for school. Unbeknownst to me at the time was that fact I wasn't too cool for shit.

The first time I ever roadied for Marathon one of the dudes put Third Eye Blind's self titled record on the stereo. I didn't really know the dudes in the band too well so I just sat there dumbfounded and silently judged. I recall thinking "What the fuck? I thought this was a punk band! This isn't punk rock, this is music for sorority girls!" Turns out that train of thought is riddled with irony considering I don't listen to punk music. I've heard on Black Flag song in my life, hated it, and never listened to them again. Get over it. Side note, I think Nate at the time was pledging a sorority but that's neither here nor there. That day I believe we were headed towards Philadelphia for a show with No Trigger, The Break, and Wasteland that took place under a bridge. None of that matters though. What does matter is by the end of that van drive, I was in love with Third Eye Blind and I had a hard on for Stephan Jenkins. (and Licky)

Fast forward some years to either 2007 or 2008, I can't quite remember. Marathon was long gone, along with my bountiful head of hair/self esteem, and Polar Bear Club was starting to tour more and more. Thanks to our friend Justin from Fire When Ready and other bands I haven't kept up on, PBC was given the opportunity to open up for 3EB at Oswego University. The show was to take place in an arena type setting where hockey games and other large events were held. There would be literally thousands of people in attendance basking in Goose's inner and outer beauty. (Quick! PBC dudes, Goose was in the band then, right!?) Everyone in PBC was a fan of the band at that time which added to the overall excitement of the offer. In fact, around the same time, PBC had been playing a Third Eye Blind cover at a couple of local shows. So it goes without saying that PBC enthusiastically accepted the show offer to rub elbows with Jenkins and their fruity looking guitar player. The day of the show the previously mentioned enthusiasm began to wane.

As I mentioned before, the show took place at a large venue at Oswego University, the exact college where I spent the best ten years of my life pursuing my Bachelor Of Arts in Fucking Up. Cue the Tommy Boy quote -

Tommy: Did you hear I finally graduated?
Richard Hayden: Yeah, and just a shade under a decade too, all right.
Tommy: You know a lot of people go to college for seven years.
Richard Hayden: I know, they're called doctors.

I knew I wasn't going to know any students but I was looking forward to being the oldest person on campus not named professor. As expected, the show was a pretty big production involving trailers worth equipment and one specific 18 wheeler designed to house the guitar player of Third Eye Blind's ego. Hired to load and unload all of the musical gear were a pack of surly failed musicians doubling as stage hands and roadies who made it a point to shit on all of us right in front of our faces.

We're all professionals so the lot of us showed up pretty early in order to feel the situation out since an event this size was new to all of us. Around this time, a more than likely coked up stage hand "greeted" us and figured we were one of the opening bands since we all wore skinny jeans. Um, ok. "Sorry, sir. I know you're used to a bunch of 40 year old dudes who wear rings on their fingers, are out of touch with any type of reality and probably think overalls, Skidz, eye brow rings, and Zack Morris are the new hip thing. Afterall, Stephan Jenkins actually wears a top hat while on stage. Cool as James Dean." Sure, not a complete slap in the face but this is the same stage hand that would later yell at PBC, telling them to "get their shit together as if this were some battle of the bands. (Side note, if it were, PBC would have lost, 3EB rulz!)

It wasn't all bad though, I have to admit it was pretty sweet to have our own dressing room filled with up with a bunch of food, that certainly was a perk. Of course our area was completely on the other side of the building, tucked away from Third Eye Blind, ensuring they wouldn't interact with the common folk. But sometimes fate steps in and two artists, two visionaries are brought together. Well, almost. The second best event of the evening took place backstage when Goose was on the hunt for some sort of glazed ham or sandwich, not sure which. The legend goes that Goose walked by the guitarist of Third Eye Blind who felt the need to put his hand to his face in order to shield his celebrity from superfan Goose. "Please, sir. Goose wasn't even alive when Semi Charmed Life was on the radio, he's not going to blow you. It's not like you're the lead singer of New Found Glory. And if you were, well, Goose would have a better tale to tell."

Oh, right. I guess Polar Bear Club played a set that night in front of thousands of kids. I felt warm and fuzzy inside while on side of the stage thinking about the first time I heard 3EB and how that day Nate played under a bridge to about ten people. All these years later. Still Nate. Still Third Eye Blind. Still no one caring. Even better than that though was the actual best event of the evening. Watching and seeing Chris Browne pump his fist, urging a crowd of non believers to "Sing it!!" No, wait. It was definitely walking by the previously mentioned hateful stagehand and hearing him desperately scream into his walkie talkie - "We lost the top hat! We may have left the top hat on the stage!" It was either Stephan's or Jimmy's.

It's Summer!

2009-04-25T14:07:00.003-04:00

Well, it feels like summer here, it's around 80 degrees. You know what that means, right? Summer means Grey Area! Download here, fools! (password is strenght) Anyway, I fly out to meet up with Polar Bear Club on Friday and the West Coast shows start a couple days later. Me? Well, I've just been sitting around here working full time and dying inside more and more each shift. Kids, don't ever get a job. It will destroy you faster and harder than any girl. See you soon!

"Home Is Where The Heart Aches"

2009-04-13T23:55:00.011-04:00

Well, it's just you and I again, kids. I feel we've had this very same conversation before. Once again, I have nothing going on here and I have zero to actually write about. So why am I doing it you ask? Mostly because I have about 45 more minutes left of work to kill. Yep, I'm back in New York state as of last Friday and yep, I'm back at my soul devouring, spirit killing job as a counselor. Eh, wait, the soul devouring part isn't true. I actually signed over my conscience/soul to my college roommate in 2001 for a Marlboro Light cigarette. Looking back I made the correct choice. But please know that every time I step into this office, another piece of me dies. Sound good?

Polar Bear Club. Maybe you've heard of them. Well, they're still in Seattle recording their follow up to "Sometimes Things Go One Track Too Long". Let's hope they don't pull a Stryder and release a second full length along the lines of "Jungle City Twitch". If you get that joke, you're too old to be reading this blog. But seriously, I've heard some pre-production songs and I'm really excited to hear everything come together in the end. I think Nate told me they were actually starting vocals today but I may have made that up, who knows. Even though they're plugging along, Polar Bear Club is also falling apart without me. For instance, Jimmy tells me dishes are starting to pile up in the studio kitchen. If I was there, I wouldn't let that happen. I keep house better than any soccer mom. Apparently, Emmett had a brief stay in an urgent care center. If Trevor was still in Seattle I'd have Emmett nursing at my teat and back in tip top shape in a matter of minutes. Don't under estimate my teats. The van. PBC's transportation has been stuck in a garage getting the breaks worked on for about a week now. If Seattle was still my home....no, wait, fuck that. I don't do vans but you already knew this, didn't you?

As I mentioned in my last entry, there was nothing for me really to do in Seattle unless you count eating five grilled cheese sandwiches a day and staring at a computer for ten straight hours activities. Wait, when other PBC-ers were in the actual studio, I did sneak off numerous times a day, to the bathroom, in order to treat my body as if it were some sort of amusement park. The sort of amusement park that has been foreclosed and neglected for years. Think lots of sad clowns and a rollercoaster that was shut down due to a couple kids being decapitated. It's ok, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. There was still the highlight of the PBC, Have Heart, Shook Ones, Comadre, and Rotting Out show. Shook Ones are one of my favorite current bands and it was great to catch up with all of the Have Heart dudes again after not seeing them for a couple weeks. It would have been nice to speak with Pat Flynn for a bit but he rolls with an entourage so deep it was literally impossible to get within 30 feet. This is what happens when hardcore goes to your heads, kids. Don't be like Pat.

The actual show took place at a VFW hall and brought out over 200 kids. Shook Ones went over great which was no surprise since Seattle is their home town. I felt the response to PBC was a bit apathetic which was a shame because they played one of their best shows ever musically. Of course Have Heart headlined and turned the venue into one large calesthenics class with all sorts of dudes moshing all over eachother. I took it all in from a very safe distance behind the merch table and sung the two lines I know to that one song.

So now that we got all the basics out of the way, let's get to the real point of this entry. Basically, I went ahead and signed up for a Twitter account. Why? I have no fucking idea. Wait, I do know. Jimmy and Goose did it first. That and I can now keep up on the day to day activities of Shaquille O'neal, Michael Showalter and an even more fictional version of Buffy from Buffy The Vampire Slayer. A sadder sentence has never been typed. Should you "follow" me? No, probably not. Unless of course you want to read such riveting updates as "not fucking" or "drinking until I pee the bed...again". Yes, I'm aware that Twitter is a tool mostly used by pre teens girls and believe me, I'm embarrassed. Ever see that episode of "The Office" where Creed dyes his hair black in order to appear younger? Well, this is the same type of desparate act. So, I guess this is me now.

I'm not one to judge but if you do choose to check out my profile on Twitter, do know you're following a person who took about six years to graduate college due to substance abuse, once drank a shot glass of his own urine to impress a girl (she wasn't impressed), and a "man" that lists his favorite actors as Sylvestor Stallone and Keanu Reeves. Hey, you're the ones who have to live with yourselves, do what you want. www.twitter.com/xtrackerx

Alright, I'm meeting up with the PBC boys in Seattle on May 1st for the West Coast dates. See you then. Tweet, tweet.

"I Spend Half My Time With Friends, Hoping It Never Ends"

2009-04-06T23:12:00.006-04:00

So today is the first day of recording in the city of Seattle. Well, PBC is actually just doing what's called pre production. I wasn't really sure what that meant so I asked Goose. Goose's face glazed over as soon as I said "pre" and his only reply was "I love ham" so I then asked Nate. Nate tells me it's basically playing PBC songs for the producer, Matt Bayles, and a bunch of brain storming. Well, then my face glazed over because sitting in a room with Polar Bear Club sounded about as appealing as living a healthy lifestyle filled with good decisions. So, what I did was set up camp in the living room part of the studio and hop on the internetz. Well, eight hours later I'm still in here and they're still in there.

We actually rolled into Seattle last night after spending three or four days in Portland, Oregon. Not surprisingly, I went on a bit of an alcohol binge while in that city but I can't be blamed for my actions because I'm only an adult by default. Seeing our friends in Broadway calls, Chris P (thanks for the bbq!), our host Aaron, and Chip whom we met while on tour with American Steel only added to the antics and fun of our stay. (That sentence was a grammar holocaust) Previously, I mentioned the Broadway Calls, PBC, Attica! Attica! basement show that came together rather quickly while we were in town. I hadn't been to a basement show in awhile and I was told there would be no alcohol so I was pretty skeptical as to if I would enjoy myself. See, the thing is, I only look out for myself. I wasn't concerned with anyone else. This is why I soon die alone.

Either way, much to my delight, basement shows still entertain me. Maybe it was the fact that almost 50 kids came out on a show that was barely promoted. Maybe it was the fact that I knew everyone performing that night. Maybe it was the 40 ounce that I pounded in the van before the show. We will never know. What I did figure out though was that basement shows still give me goosebumps, Attica! Attica! deserves to be one of the biggest bands in punk rock, and that you're never too old to particiapte in an event that has is a part of your lifestyle. I'm talking about basement shows, kids, not alcohol addiciton.

Day one of my week long exodus in Seattle is almost over. Soon, I fly home to Rochester, New York in order to work a bit while Polar Bear Club slaves over their art. From what I've heard, I'm pretty excited about the new record. Hopefully, it blows up and I can someday get an apartment again. Wait. Ok, hopefully, the record blows up and I can afford a real bed to keep at my parent's house. Wait. Maybe Polar Bear Club gets huge and I can make a minium monthly payment on one of my four credit cards. Dare to dream, kids. That's it for now, I have to attend to some very pressing matters such as check my Myspace and Facebook for the 30th time today. Hey, if anyone in the Seattle area wants to hang out with a creepy old man with the social skills of an aborted fetus, hit me up!

Fun Ends Now

2009-04-02T22:34:00.005-04:00

Well, all shows are done until April, 9th when PBC plays in Seattle with Have Heart, Shook Ones, Comadre, and Rotting Out.Today is April 2nd which means I have absolutely nothing to do for the next week. Sure, I haven't really done anything since I started touring with PBC but this time it feels different.

Right now we're all hanging out in Portland, Oregon at our friend Aaron's place. You may know Aaron from such bands as Attica! Attica! and the best band of all time other than As Friends Rust, Marathon. If you're an avid reader of this blog you may also remember the last time we stayed at Aaron's house. if you don't, just know that I took erotic pics of Goose in all sorts of sexy costumes. Collectively, we can only hope round two happens tonight.

Polar Bear has a couple days until recording for their new album begins so I guess they're going to practice here a couple days before we head to Seattle. Don't tell anyone but PBC, Broadway Calls, and Attica! Attica! are playing a super secret house show in the area tomorrow so I'm looking forward to that. However, like I mentioned before, after the show, I won't have shit to do. The eternal question of how many times can a grown masturbate within one day before imploding will finally be answered.

So, I've started drinking whiskey and I'm going to try and keep this entry short. Jimmy, Goose, and Aaron have left the apartment and are on their way to see Lil Wayne and Gym Class Heroes whereas the rest of the crew are sitting around watching YouTube videos such as "On A Boat" which wasn't even funny the first 50 times I was forced to sit through it. Yes, they're going to see Lil Wayne. Apparently, Aaron still knows a couple of dudes in Gym Class Heroes so the tickets were free. Personally, I'd rather drink my own urine (again) than see a Lil Wayne concert but Goose has an addiction to black ass so I'm not going to judge.

There was no point in writing this entry, I'm sorry. Listen to Reviver.

2009-03-30T00:21:00.007-04:00

I don’t anticipate writing anything remotely funny in this entry so you may just want to bail out now. Basically, I’m checking in with all three of you to let you know what we’ve been up to. I know it’s hard to sleep at night otherwise. Currently, I’m sitting shotgun whilst Goosemankillz69 hurls the van and trailer at an obscene speed towards Denver, Colorado. Usually Goose and I are on the same page as far as music is concerned even though he’s about 22 years my junior but right know he’s listening to some pop punk that would make his two year old sister blush.

A couple of nights ago in Cinci-naughty PBC played their last show with Have Heart and Trapped Under Ice. While we only hung out with those dudes for about a week they certainly will be missed. Jimmy brought this up the other day and it bears repeating. When a couple of bands get together without knowing each other previously, it usually takes about a week to really feel comfortable and well, make a lot of dick jokes. By the time we reached that level with our homeboys, it was time to part ways. Why do they always leave? The women and the boys! It’s because my ass is getting fat, isn’t it?

I didn’t drink too much on this tour since the other two bands are straight edge. Not that they would ever care about that type of thing. It’s just beer wasn’t readily available backstage. There were vegetables, humus, and something called fruit which I can only imagine is worse for you than cigarettes and binge drinking. The positive side of being sober was that I actually remembered most of the shows. You all know I don’t really like to talk about shows or PBC because this blog right here is mostly about my self hate but I’ll try and give a quick recap. Um, well. I believe I talked about the Albany show in my last post and how kids went pretty crazy and I decided to retire from moshing before actually ever moshing. From there was the Montreal show, I think. Getting into Canada wasn’t a problem which is always a relief. Luckily, Canadian officials aren’t yet aware of my plan to kidnap most, if not all, of their beautiful women. This show doesn’t really stick out because I remember the crowd being mostly apathetic to every band that played. What I do remember is the three flights of stairs we had to climb in order to load in and out. This was the first time I actually prayed for death while tasting vomit at the back of my throat. Well, the first time since college.

Toronto was the next day I and this show was a blast. Nearly 500 kids turned out to see me get pretty blackout drunk for the first time on the tour. Wait, maybe all those kids came to see Have Heart, PBC, and Trapped, I’m still trying to confirm. Fuck, I lied before. I don’t remember any of the other shows either due to booze, old age, Alzheimer’s. Possibly all three. What I can tell you is that the show in Indianapolis was pretty fun because we actually played that same venue earlier in the year. For that show, about five kids actually turned out. This time around there was over 200. Keep paying our bills, Have Heart! Cinci-nasty comes to mind mostly because the stage was actually a wrestling ring. The ropes weren’t up but you get the idea. Also, the ratio of tattooed face individuals to non faced tattooed individuals was shockingly high. I’m not judging, fuck, I have a tattoo of a flame on my body. A green flame. Ask any of my friends, they make fun of me on the daily. Thanks for that idea, Sarah!

So I’m here at the Denver show now behind the merch table ignoring potential customers in order to watch Scrubs and sneak in some highly offensive pornography for free. That’s just how I roll. Our good friends in Broadway Calls stopped by since they’re recording their new album at the Blasting Room. Ty from Broadway was nice enough to play some of their new record for me. One song actually contains a line I wrote on this very blog, so keep an eye for it in Sepetmber. If you don’t like Broadway Calls you don’t like catchy rock music and you might hate minorities. There’s a correlation there but I’m too tired to find it.

Last night, we were in Lawrence, Kansas which brought out about 20 kids. Yeah, a bit of a bummer but the beer was free and so was I. And after the show tonight, we begin our drive to Salt Lake City. Apparently, there is a snow storm moving in and the stretch of road we’ll be traveling on is quite treacherous. So if some Cliff Burton type shit happens tonight, please, someone, pay off my student loan debt so my parents don’t have to. Also, tell Polar Bear Club I like the EP better than the full length. So, a couple more days and we arrive in Seattle where PBC start to record their new record for Bridge 9. I’m hanging out for a week and then flying back home to my futon and the crippling depression that only Rochester can bring me. Someone, talk some sense in to me and get me to grad school.

P.S. Do me a favor and check out Triple B Records, thanks!

Sweet Jesus

2009-03-22T17:06:00.007-04:00

Yo, this following blog was written two nights ago and is not current! Side note, Chris Browne had his duffel bag stolen at the Montreal show! Either that or he smoked it! Speaking of smoking, I didn't write this blog sober.

Hey, kids, how have you been? Listen, I know it's been awhile and I'm sorry. Baby, I'm done with all the boozing and whoring. I'm ready to make a go of this. Wait, fuck that. You see, I love you, I'm just not in love with you.

Eh, but seriously, I haven't had anything new to write about. I mean, how many more times can i tell you how wasted I got last night before i start sounding like a brain dead frat bro? Well, Let's say it one more time - kids, daddy time traveled last night. That's how sloppy yours truly got. I traveled through time. Thanks again, Albany!

So we're on tour right now with Trapped Under Ice and some popular rock n' roll act called have Heart. Maybe you've heard of them? I'm told their lead singer Pat Flynn is a Boston Red Sox fan. As a New York Met's guy, I soon hope to discuss the 1986 World Series. We'll see.

Shows are averaging about 250 people a night and most kids are even staying awake for PBC between Trapped Under Ice and Have Heart. Touring with bands you've never met before is always awkward at first because you're not sure if bands will have anything in common. Like Have Heart and Trapped Under Ice, PBC are all straight edge so at least we have that (the joke being PBC is not edge! Ah, the hilarity!). Oh! Weight lifting! Both us and Trapped share the love of power squats and chest presses. Seriously though, Trapped Under Ice look like they've been in a maximum security prison for the last 5 - 10 years where their only options were to lift heavy shit and crack skulls. While they're all great guys, they physically intimidate me and make me want to sit down while I pee.

Out of the three shows so far, Albany has been my favorite. Not only was the PBC crowd reaction the best yet, like I mentioned before I was pretty torn up. Who do you turn to when you can't enjoy anything while sober? God or Aslan. There was another epiphany I had at the Albany show - this whole Pit Boss/Pit Master title I bestowed upon myself in the last entry is a complete sham. Instead of moshing and policing the pit, I choose to either go outside and smoke or hover around the circle acting about as hard as John Waters. In actuality, the true mosh master is actually Steve Baby aka Baby Steve aka Da Professa aka Treacherous MC aka Big Baby Jesus, lead singer of Forfeit. Pretty sure I spotted Steve Baby windmilling in the backstage area practicing his mosh finishing moves. If moshing were promiscuous sex, Steve Baby would be HIV +.

I consider myself pretty lucky to be able to catch Have Heart every night for the next couple of days. I've been dead inside for the last six years but when I watch these guys I actually get goose bumps. It's the energy of Pat and the sincerity he seems to exude when it comes to his convictions which by the sound it appear to be X rated movies (XXX) and some dude named Boston.

Go Mets.

Here We Are

2009-03-12T11:19:00.008-04:00

I didn't proof read this entry....deal with it and love me for who I am - a drunk with slight brain damage.

Well, I think today is now the second day back in the United States and I'm just now caught up on sleep. On March 10th we started our quest back home around 8:30am London time. Our plane landed in New York City 7pm east coast time. That was more than enough traveling for me but we still had to go out to Long Island to pick up our cars and then head out for home in Rochester/Syracuse, New York. However, before we did any of that it was absolutely necessary that we find a Taco Bell. It had just been way too long! The closest Taco Bell eatery apparently was in a very seedy part of New Jersey. Not too sure of the exact city but stepping out of the car I immediately felt like I was now in Hamsterdam. After being asked for change by three different individuals, eye fucked, and made to feel like I was whiter than Chris Browne, I finally felt like I was home. There's nothing like a threat against your life to really bring you back down to earth.

Twenty three hours of travel time later, I was finally home. The futon was ready and the shower was empty. I figured I hadn't showered in five days, why start now? Hell, that could wait another day. So here I am now, finally clean, and reflecting back on the whole trip. Financially, we're all fucked. Obviously, there are bills to pay and those come first. PBC was able to pay off some debt owed to Bridge 9 but each of us were unable to walk away with even a little money to pay a bill or two. It's not a big deal because none of us are in this to pocket cash. However, it would have been rad to make a monthly payment on one of my four credit cards.

So...was it worth it? Absolutely. For me, this is the only chance I would ever have to go overseas. I've always been poor and will always be poor. So, thanks for PBC for dragging me along with them. And they better fucking drag me along again when they go back at the end of May (dates apparently are up at the Positive Nuisance myspace, oh boy!) . Polar Bear Club was able to perform in front of huge crowds with The Gaslight Anthem and smaller, more intense crowds on their headline dates. All of us met a lot of great people who often went out of their way to help us. I'm terrible with names but thank you especially to Chrissie from Positive Nuisance for booking such great headline dates, Tom for being awesome in general and helping out with merch, Saker for hospitality and talking hardcore with Goose, Stanley for being the best and sometimes grumpiest driver of all time....eh, and everyone else! Listen, you all know I drink too much so I can't remember everyone! Please know you were my first.

Getting back to The Gaslight Anthem for a bit, while everyone in the band are wonderful dudes, the crew they take out with them are even sweeter! Hopefully, we'll all run into each other again soon. In the meantime, check out Gunner Records. Gunnar drove and sold merch for Gaslight and hopefully will be putting out PBC's ep on vinyl in Germany. Gunnar and I spent a lot of nights behind the merch table making fun of Frank Turner, people in the crowd, and drinking beers.

So here I am now, sitting on the couch, 12 pounds overweight (who knew drinking and overeating everyday for a month would have a negative effect on and old man) , and watching The Devil Wears Prada just like any straight male would. I'm already bored to tears and I'm ready to get the fuck out of here. I haven't had a drink or cigarette in a couple days and yet I feel fine. I felt it was a good time to detox to gear up for the Have Heart dates. I figure it will be disrespectful to mosh hard during their set whilst drunk. In case you didn't know, on the Have Heart/Trapped Under Ice dates I've designated myself pit boss aka the master of the pit. That means I'll be policing the pit, windmilling, and moshing harder than kids half my age. Hopefully, I'll be doing all of this with my Trapped Under Ice Stay Cold football jersey. Ah, the possibilities.

Edit: Dammit, I forgot to express my love for Frank Turner. I love him. He's like my younger, drunk off one beer, more talented, skinnier, smarter, uptight brother! I've also nicknamed him The Gay Lion. Why? Well, he looks like a gay lion. Swoon.

So, here's to getting out of my hometown in a couple days. And here's to the cable tv my parent's recently subscribed to. Lastly, here's to Anne Hathaway for being my latest celebrity obsession. Now on with the weekly list of favorite PBC members -

1. Goose - We both loves Scrubs, he hugged me before we departed, and his girlfriend loves Buffy The Vampire Slayer. He's Turk and I'm J.D. Minus the hair.

2. Nate - I don't know. Not really sure what more I can muster up about Nate. He's like a Volvo. Boxy and reliable. Wish he didn't shave that moustache. He looked like the perfect pornstar with a drinking problem with that thing.

3. Emmett - Emmett didn't buy me Taco Bell but he bought almost everyone else Taco Bell when we stopped in New Jersey. Basically, he left me and Browne to fend for ourselves in the inner city. It was like that movie Judgement Night without the rap/rock sound track.

4. Chris Browne - In a shocking turn of events, Chris Browne has climbed out of the basement. Anytime I need any information on past or present PBC dates, I ask Chris Browne. He knows all sorts of little details about everything. He's like Dustin Hoffman's character in Rain Man with a guitar. I think that's a compliment.

5. Jimmy - I'm a jealous, angry, resentful person. This is one of the reasons I don't have sex. It's also the reason Jimmy is last today. Basically, Jimmy wrote a guest blog and received more comments on his entry than I've ever had. I don't know who I hate more right now - you people or him.

Jimmy's Guest Blog

2009-03-07T15:31:00.002-05:00

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO INTERNET! You're looking dapper today, or is that just my reflection in Trevor's laptop monitor? ZINGO ZANGO, BINGO BANGO! (that's what I say when I make a good joke. Ask anyone in PBC, I always say that).So here it is world, Jimmy's guest blog, LET THE HITS FLY IN. PEW PEW PEW PEW PEW PEW PEW PEW! You might be asking yourself what it is I have to blog about,well I'll tell you. My fucking bullshit placement on Trevor's bullshit list. NUMBER FUCKING THREE EVERYTIME! For the record, after every list posting Trevor does, he pulls me aside and tells me I am his true number one. He also promises me acting work and cocaine, you can guess what happens next. Anyway, I have a theory about THE LIST and here it is.
I may be number three on every list posting but that just proves my point exactly. I am ALWAYS number three while everyone else fluctuates between one and five. Nate Morris goes from one to five as soon as the sun sets, this is also the witching hour of his alter ego "Creeper Nate" or "Hate Morris" This is a very dark time for everyone in PBC. Goose is the ultimate list swimmer. He is consistently never and always letting everyone down. Wrap your head around that. Menke meanders between three and four depending on his facial hair and foot odor and Browne...well....
Anyway, my point is this. I am the only member of PBC who stays the same. I'M STAYING THE COURSE and hence am the only one in PBC that Trevor can trust at any given moment. It's simple really. I am the anchor in Trevor's life, the one true constant,maybe even more important to him than his own mother(love you suze, call me) and thus I am always his number one, regardless of what this internet machine tells you. You all out there in internet world should make your own lists of your favorite pbc members post them in the comments section. Please keep in mind that no one reads those things but me so be as harsh and honest as you want. I have to go play a show now. Check ya later world. VOTE JIMMY

Cardiff

2009-03-05T14:29:00.004-05:00

So starts our last couple dates of our European tour. We're no longer hanging out with The Gaslight Anthem and Frank Turner. Polar Bear Club has trimmed the fat and finishes up with some UK headline dates. In fact, right now, I'm sitting behind the merch table for our first main act show in Cardiff. What I'm saying is this, ladies, the chance to have sex with a stranger old enough to be your father is diminishing. Get on it.

Polar Bear Club is playing smaller clubs without barriers and the weight of making The Gaslight Anthem look silly onstage. Ah, jokes. We're having fun, yes? I think we all feel more at home in this type of setting. These venues hold about 150 - 200 kids as opposed to the 500-600 sized arenas PBC played the last couple of weeks. Hopefully, the energy for PBC will be more intense. Afterall, the previous shows, kids showed up primarliy to see Frank and Gaslight. This time round, in theory, kids are here to see Party Bear Club. If not, well, I'm still getting drunk, what the fuck do I care?

Well, PBC is about the start. In the meantime, yo girl in the heels, turn around, I want to marry you.

Send Self Control

2009-03-01T12:12:00.003-05:00

Hey, friends. Tonight is a special night I suppose. Polar Bear Club was scheduled to have an off day in order to recover from each other, lack of sleep, me, and general malaise. Two days ago, PBC and Frank Turner were offered a show anyway in Trier, Germany. The Gaslight Anthem couldn’t do it because they’re off filming some tv show in hopes of conquering the music world with their message of world peace, Cadillac cars, blue jeans, and white t shirts. So instead of finding a cheap hotel where we would have spent the day and night secretly sneaking off to the bathroom to touch ourselves in the worst of places, PBC and Francis Turner opted to play an off day show with only a couple of days notice. Why? Because we’re punk as fuck. Nope, that’s a lie, Jimmy uses hair product.

So here I am now lording over the merch table with a drunken eye whilst PBC plays in front of about twenty people. No, not a huge turnout but the venue we’re in is pretty wild and the promoter Robert is treating us extremely well. For instance, the man went out of his way to not only set up the show but he also fed us, got me drunk, will be giving us a place to crash, and hopefully won’t notice the garbage can that I’ll eventually throw up in. I’m told where we’re at used to be a monastery. There is a large court yard that has sweet looking graffiti on most of the walls and in another part of the building there is a basketball hoop. For the first time since the late 90’s I picked up the ball and shot around for a bit with Goose, Emmett and Chris Browne. Goose shoots like he’s slapping away fruits and vegetables, Emmett has pretty good form, and Browne shoots under handed. I don’t get it either. I took a couple pictures of the building as well as the graffiti and I hope to upload them soon. I also hope to sleep with an attractive woman again someday but I don’t see either ever happening so stew on that.

Sunday March 1st, Croningen
So I thought I would have more to write about our night in Trier but it turns out I didn’t. Who knew that I could only make fun of myself and the Polar Bears for so long? It’s around noon and I find myself on a stranger’s couch in Croningen, Holland. I do not know our host but I’m pretty sure while we were sleeping he came in and took pictures of us. I can neither can confirm nor deny this because I had a bit of the devil’s brew in me. Nate is laid out to the right of me snoring away and our driver Stan is on the floor at my feet. I’m extremely hung over, again, and I want to kick Nate in the stomach for snoring so god damned loud. I wasn’t able to actually see any of last night’s show in Cronigen because I was watching merch all night and the table was all the way on the other side of the venue. A large piece of me is dead inside because I was un able to take a walk through the red light district that apparently was dangerously close to the venue PBC played at. Yes, there is always Amsterdam tonight but I don’t think anyone in Polar Bear Club wishes to take a walk on the wild, dark side with me. Why? Because they all seem to have morals and integrity. Well, except for Frank.

Including tonight, we only have three more shows with Frank Turner and The Gaslight Anthem. When this part concludes, we finish up in the UK for some smaller headline shows. In ten days or so I’ll be back home laying out on the ol’ futon. Part of me is ready to go home today. I’m exhausted, smelly, dirty, and I’ve overindulged a bit too much this tour. Not only with food but with booze. Heading out with a band as big as The Gaslight Anthem means that there is always all kinds of drinks backstage. I lack the capacity to say no to anyone or anything and have the will power of an….alcoholic? Hell, I just might be one. When I’m home, I’ll have a job to go back to (unless anyone from my work reads this) and structure. As you all know, I’ll also have the parents to answer to. Hopefully, this means I can get my act together, you know, for those nine days before we head back out again. Pray for mojo.

“Trevor Backer is a grown up child” – Brian Fallon

Never Forget

2009-02-25T04:55:00.004-05:00

This entry is a bit old, this is the first time I've had access to the internetz in about three days, enjoy.

Goodbye, Germany. You were quite kind to us. Well, some of you at least paid attention. The same cannot be said for Sweden and Denmark. Perhaps Finland would have been different but I guess we’ll never know. I’m sure you already heard, but the night before we were to take a ferry to Finland, Gaslight’s van was broken into. Luckily, none of their possessions or equipment were stolen, there was only damage done to the van’s windows. However, it recently came to light that a bag full of Frank Turner t shirts were nicked by the incompetent thieves. This, to me, is good news. I saw those hideous rags. Starving and naked children in third world countries wouldn’t be caught dead in such designs.

Let’s slow down before we get too far ahead of ourselves. Back to the missing of the ferry to Finland. So, Gaslight wasn’t able to make the ferry from Stockholm to Finland due to the local police taking their sweet ass time in regards to the incident report. We were already in Stockholm, hoping Gaslight could defy space and time and somehow arrive in time to make the boat ride. Apparently, the show in Finland was sold out and when the hell will I ever get another chance to step on Finnish soil? The answer is never because my liver is shutting down as I type this. Gaslight Anthem eventually did arrive at the dock just in time to watch their ferry begin to sail away. Now everyone was more or less fucked because we didn’t have an actual show for four days in the city we were already in, Stockholm.

We had no choice but to stay in the city of Stockholm until our eventual show later on in the week. On this tour, Polar Bear Club is like a dead beat dad. They have no money, drink too much, and once in awhile slap the wife and kids around. So, holing up anywhere for an extended period of time was going to financially ruin us. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find anyone stupid or generous enough to put up seven total strangers for almost an entire week. At the end of his rope mentally, Emmett offered to pay for a hotel room for the first night at a fancy hotel. While the accommodations were indeed swanky and geared towards client’s that don’t piss in water bottles, the actual room we were to stay was a four walled, windowless coffin…in the basement.

So there we were seven smelly dudes, one hard wood floored room, for three days. Can you even imagine the smells that go along with so many people who are fueled by fast food, beer, and sweat? No you cannot but if you want to get some sort of idea of what our room stunk of, go find your pet, light them on fire, and then let the body lie out in the sun for a week. Only then will you have a slight hint of the pain we all had to endure for an extended period of time. Of course, there are worse cities to be held up in so I can’t complain too much. We were able to stop in and have a drink in a couple of pubs and spend a lot of time with The Gaslight Anthem who were within the same hotel. Like I mentioned before, money was a concern and I no longer have a tax return. However, I suppose the time spent in the only hotel we’ll get on tour was worth it. There were truly beautiful aspects of the city including the pubs and restaurants. I know I’ll never forget that Pizza Hut across the street that we hit up twice.

Today I type from the back of the van, headed towards Milan, Italy. It’s a Monday afternoon, we have no show tonight and I’m on at least day 14 of my monthly life destroying alcohol bender. I haven’t seen the sun since we’ve been here and I consume at least 5,000 calories daily. As a result of the last two issues, I now resemble an industrial sized jar of mayonnaise without a label. Except balder. Clean laundry is now non-existent and the boxer briefs that I’m wearing are going on day six and would remind you of a pair of Jnco’s. Yes, yes. I’m just as shocked as you by the fact I haven’t had sex in months. In some sort of stupor I lost my toiletry bag so I push on by sleeping in my contacts, not brushing my teeth, and I go undeodorized. People, I literally smell like a female cat in heat crossed with an Italian submarine sandwich. Fear me.

Anyway, let’s get to the “weekly” list of my current favorite Polar Bear Club members. Last time I created such a list, there were a lot of hurt feelings. Here’s hoping for a recurrence of resentment and disdain. Live fast, die alone.

1. Nate – Old reliable, Nate. Mainly he keeps his number one status because I’m sharing the hotel bed with him and I’m pretty sure he’s reading what I type over my shoulder. He also has a moustache growing that makes Lieutenant Dangle look straight.

2. Emmett – Emmet moves up a couple spots this week due to his incessant bitching ever since my previous list was issued. I don’t want to hear about it anymore so I bumped him up a bit. Also, Emmett shows me noodz on his phone every once in awhile. Who doesn’t love mobile boobs?

3. Jimmy – Jimmy’s like that ex girlfriend you still bang every once in awhile. Nice to look at, easy, and after time spent with them, you remember why you cheated on them with that younger, better looking broad. No idea what any of that means. Deal.

4. Goose- Goose is all angry with me because apparently, last night, I got all drunk and started pissing on his leg. Goose has made me feel bad about it all day and won’t stop guilting me. He knew daddy was drunk! It’s his own fault for getting in the way of my piss!

5. Chris – Chris got all mad at me the other day for throwing a snow ball at him. Chris continues to love the Yankees as well. That’s all I got. Wait, after reading 4 and 5 it has become apparent that I’m a fucking prick.

New Post Tonight

2009-02-20T16:17:00.002-05:00

yeah, new blog entry tonight. for now, enjoy a shot of chris browne's ass.

2009-02-13T19:21:00.005-05:00

Hello internet friends. Here I am behind the merch table while frank turner is about twenty feet away, on stage, crooning about an ex girlfriend or his dead dog, I'm not exactly sure. Anyway, last night and tonight PBC played Sweden. It's pretty here and I'm grateful not to be working my dead end job back in New York state but I must admit, Sweden has been the weakest as far as crowd response. Hell, I'm not even sure if this country is actually pretty because I've been trapped inside each club each night. However, there are beautiful women everywhere, women I'd gladly take back to my parent's futon if we were back in the states. Sure, that's not saying much, I'd find a women in a burn victim ward at the local hospital attractive at this point but that's probably a story for another time.

This is the first time I've actually written an entry drunk so I hope you will bear with me through this grammar nightmare. Speaking of drinking, I've come to the realization that I am a full fledged alcoholic. Shows and traveling just isn't fun if I'm not on some next level shit. I like to tell myself I'm still a functional alcoholic but the rest of PBC would probably beg to differ. It's ok, they knew I only tagged along to do two things – drink beers and start shit. Mission accomplished.

While Sweden clearly hates Polar Bear Club as well as fun, our two shows in Germany were fantastic. PBC went over great and we were able to sell a lot of merch which helps the cause. To be honest, we're not making a lot on this tour as far as guarantees. I won't get into details but let's just say I'm not going to be able to afford any type of present or bouquet of flowers for my special lady on Valentine's Day. When I say special lady please understand I'm talking about the only woman I know – my mom. I'm trying to talk the rest of the dudes into letting her go on tour with us when we head out with Have Heart in March. I need her ATM card and I just know she'd hit it off with Trapped Under Ice.

As always, if you're looking for more in depth information as far as shows, PBC in general or shit doesn't involve my self hate, you won't find it here. If you want that boring shit, e-mail the band. I'll end this once again pointless entry on a high note. What follows is my top five PBC members list. Like most things in my life, this list is based on what they've done for me lately. Send beer, loose women, and American cigarettes. Please, kill me.

1. Nate – He's my actual best friend, has a mustache as well that reminds me of that uncle who taught me all about foreplay, and puts up with my jokes even though he's been hearing the same one for the last six years. Plus, he was in Marathon. Kudos.

2. Goose – He has a mustache right now, he'll show me his balls at the drop of a hat and he makes me feel skinny even if I am currently 20 pounds overweight.

3. Jimmy – Talent and good looks only get you so far on this list. Jimmy forgot my birthday this past January. Jimmy also has the grossest neck beard that sadly reminds me of ball hair. I don't even know what that means but I'm drunk and high on this girl in front of the merch table's butt. What?

4. Emmett – While Emmet was the only PBC member that was willing to hang out with me on my latest birthday, he was also balls deep in my last ex girlfriend for a spell. Sure, who wasn't, but I'm like an elephant – grey, large, and never forgetting.

5. Chris – Chris likes the Lakers, Yankees and may have voted for John McCain. That last part isn't true but everything I write on this thing is a lie anyway so why stop now?

Happy Friday the 13^th, please think of me on the 14^th, you're all I got.

This Entry May Suck A Little Less Than The Last One...Maybe

2009-02-09T18:25:00.006-05:00

I'm pretty disappointed in my last entry so I thought I'd make up for "phoning it in" and throw another one at you. Most of the time during tour, there isn't really anything exciting happening, especially with Polar Bear Club. It's difficult to write a couple paragraphs about your daily activities when our adventures consist of eating, driving and waiting around. Our van is currently at capacity with eight people packed inside including Frank Turner and our driver. In our cramped quarters, like I mentioned before, we wait. We wait to get to the show. We wait to get to the restaurant of choice. We wait at whomevers house we are crashing at for the night. Time is passed by either listening to ipods, reading (Goose colors), chatting, napping or farting. Real exciting stuff, no? While the last two days haven't brought anything completely out of the ordinary, there were still some highlights that I never would have experienced if I was still stuck in a cubicle. Shall we discuss those?

This past Sunday Polar Bear Club played a venue rooted in history. It was called Shepherds Bush Empire and my trusty friend wikipedia.com tells me that it's been around since 1905 or some wild shit. The club is located in London, UK and holds 2,000 people. Not to bore you with details but bands such as the Rolling Stones and The Smashing Pumpkins have performed on the same exact stage. Now I don't give a fuck about either of those two bands but that information will come in quite handy when I tell that fact to the next girl I con into believing I sing for Polar Bear Club. The inside of the place had three balconies if I remember correctly and just seemed to have an energy about it that was contagious. What a silly sentence to write. Moving on, I knew this would probably be the biggest crowd PBC would play to other than the Third Eye Blind show they opened sometime last year.

And it was the biggest crowd. The show sold out and while once again everyone was there to see Frank Turner and The Gaslight Anthem, there was still a noticable crowd of PBC die hards. Other than the middle of the song in "Our Ballads" where Emmett decided he wanted to turn Polar Bear into an improv jazz fusion band, PBC played an incredible set that was obviously aided by such a professional sound setting. Highlights about the venue for me included 24 beers in our dressing room rather than the usual 12 or so. As tour manager, this is the equivalent of being in Polar Bear Club and playing to a sold out room.

Clearly, this is a tour of firsts for me. First time fainting on a plane, first time being overseas and hopefully soon this will be the first time I speak to a girl who isn't my mother or sister. However, the dream of being in a foreign country, meeting a local girl who totally digs old dudes with no real job or home, falling in love with said fictional girl and never coming home is quickly fading. That's all fine and good, dying alone is the new 20. Either way, I achieved another first in my life. Today was a travel day which meant just what is says - we traveled. Both PBC, Frank and The Gaslight Anthem all had to get from the UK to Brussels or someplace near there, not exactly sure. So to achieve our goal we all boared a ferry, something that I had never done before. After my incident on the airplane on the way here I was a bit hesitant about traveling by boat.

But travel I did my friends! And do you know how I got over my anxiety and travel sickness? My best friend in the world since my dog died in 12th grade - sweet lady booze. Not only is she my best chum, she's also my lover. If that didn't make you cringe, I don't know what will. The ride only last a bit over an hour and all three bands got to hang out and enjoy eachother's company which is something that doesn't happen often enough due to everyone's various schedules.

Ok, kids. It's 4am here in Belgium and later today we're off to somewhere in Germany. Goose is lying next to me and wheezing like I will in 3 more years due to my smoking habit. He sends his love, goodnight.

This Is The Most Uninspired Entry Yet.

2009-02-08T05:43:00.006-05:00

So we've been over here in the United Kingdom for about a week now. The first show we were supposed to play in Portsmouth, UK with gaslight anthem was actually canceled because the area was blanketed with the most snow seen here within the last 18 years. It's funny, hailing from western New York, we all deal with feet and feet of snow every single winter. Every single winter. However, in these parts, a couple inches brings entire cities to their collective knees. After a long flight where I publicly embarrassed myself the last thing myself or any of us wanted was to have our first show shut down. Obviously, these events were entirely out of our control. With the help of our friend and driver Stanley we managed to schedule a last second show at a pub about two hours away. We knew the turnout wasn't going to be stellar but it was less about that and more about playing a show to a couple of people in order to break the monotony of bumming around a strange city all day. So, that's what happened, Polar Bear Club played to a couple of people. I got drunk, smoked too many cigarettes and stared at the bar maid.

Since that night PBC has played four shows with Gaslight Anthem. The shows have obviously been well attended with crowds ranging from 500 people all the way to over 1000. We're indirect support for these shows which means Polar Bear goes on about a half an hour after doors open. Because of this the club is just starting to fill up when PBC begins their set. Clearly, kids are here to see Gaslight Anthem and the direct support, Frank Turner. Yes, there are always a handful of gracious and well appreciated PBC fans that come out, sing along, and show their support by picking up a couple bits of merch. Thank you all for that. I know all of the dudes are stoked. I also know it must feel pretty awkward up there for the dudes behind a barrier on a five foot stage away from everyone. Coming from a punk rock and hardcore background, such accommodations are deemed mostly unnecessary and invasive . However, this is to be expected with shows this size.

Like I mentioned before in a previous post, the UK isn't that all different from what I've experienced back home in the states. Other than some older building that I spot every once in awhile near the club, everything looks the same to me! Sure, it's entirely possible that this is just me being an uneducated and idiotic American but as I often tell my ex's, I can't help the way I feel! Mainly, I enjoy the differences in language, especially the slang of the English. Who knew that pants meant underwear over here? That fanny is actually a vagina! My god, bell end means dickhead! Currently, I'm doing the best I can to come back with an English accent. The motivation behind this, like everything else, is getting laid. So when I get back home, if we run into each other and I tell you to “Sort your life out you bloody cow” in a heavy English droll, please go out of your way to sleep with me. If not for me, do it in the name of tourism, thanks.

This is our second tour with Gaslight Anthem so we're actually really good friends. The night before last was probably the most fun I had with those gents following a show. Once the performance concluded, PBC and some TGA dudes headed down the street to a local club in order to wet our whistles. Anytime you enter any type of establishment and you're greeted by a pack of drunken midgets, you know you're in for a good night. Yes, that was actually the case. I'm not one to judge others but when short people are stumbling, getting stuck in revolving doors and yelling at you for being too tall, one tends to point and laugh at the vertically challenged. This is more than enough to make a good evening great but what added to all the fun was the dance performance of Goose and the others that actually cleared out the entire bar. America.

Last night's show in Kingston was the most exciting and energetic as of yet by far. Polar Bear Club actually played a headline show without Frank Turner or The Gaslight Anthem. This venue was more their style and only held about 120 kids. Attached to a pub, The Fighting Cocks was the name of the place. With low ceilings and a “stage” a couple inches high, the atmosphere reminded me of a basement show more than anything else. The show ended up selling out and I was reminded again why I'm still out here doing this – for fun. Everyone in the place was either pumping their fist, singing along or both. I wanted to stage dive or at least cause some sort of uncomfortableness for others but I couldn't even get near the front. You'll be glad to know that Polar Bear Club is still a punk rock band.

Today, just like in college, I'm up early and surrounded by dudes. We're in some family's house that may or may not know we're actually here. The vibe is awkward and I've had to piss for the last three hours. I'm too afraid to leave this room for I am afraid of getting caught with a pee boner by a confused father who may think I'm here to visit his daughter. Either way, we're in London today and back with the Gaslight Anthem and Frank Turner. Should be a huge show but I know everyone is going to miss the special quality that small shows bring. If I stage dive today, hit the barrier and break my neck, don't tell my mom I wrote the phrase pee boner. Cheerio.

Getting To Europe

2009-02-03T12:17:00.002-05:00

Well, it's been a long couple of days, at least for me. Our fellowship started out at 9am on January 31^st in Rochester, New York. From there we headed towards Syracuse to pick up the rest of the crew. Our plane was leaving on Kuwait airlines out of JFK airport in New York City at 9pm on the same night. First we needed to get to Long Island in order to park our cars and dock them for five weeks. Luckily, our friend Duncan from the criminally under rated and lazy band Thieves and Assassins offered to house our cars at his house and drive us to the airport. By the time we arrived in long island, most of us were already emotionally spent from spending five hours in a car with each other but we pushed on.

Check in and security at JFK airport went a lot smoother than expected so we were almost two hours early for any type of boarding. To calm any type of pre flight jitters and nerves PBC and myself bellied up to the closest airport bar and decided to get loose. After a bar tab that bordered on 200 dollars it was time to board our 9pm flight. All six of us were seated right next to each other on a rather large plane. I've never flown overseas so I was a bit apprehensive about spending the next seven or so hours in a metal tube seated next to Chris Browne. What I was looking forward to was the free in flight meal. Choosing to live dangerously for the first since the last time I had unprotected sex, I decided to go with the lamb and curried potatoes.

At first everything ok. I popped my headphones into my ears, turned on my ipod, threw down a couple Tylenol PM's, and laid my head against the window looking out across the ocean. Twenty minutes later, I began to emerge from my drug induced slumber. I felt myself begin to sweat (more than usual), my stomach turn and my bowels drop. I shot a look at Goose croaked “I'm going to throw up.” Quickly, I needed to climb over Chris Browne and the previously mentioned Goose in order to get to the bathroom near the end of the plane. Something was wrong here. My whole body became clammy, fuzzy and warm all at the same time. By this time I had actually reached the bathroom but unfortunately the space was occupied. A foggy white veil began to close over my eyes and then everything went blank. I went down. Hard.

The next thing I remember was a 200 pound guardian angel reaching out his hand and pulling me off the ground and onto my feet again. My stocky life saver then guided me over to a closer seat where I could spread out and began feeding me cold water. Thank you, Goose Henning, you saved my life.

I don't know what happened. Maybe it was my first of many upcoming heart attacks. Maybe it was the lamb I ate. Perhaps it was the Tylenol PM and booze. Who knows, I don't have health insurance. Just know I haven't stopped smoking.

After throwing up twice and barely sleeping a wink, myself and the rest of the plane finally landed in London England at 9am on February 1^st. Our new friend and and driver for the tour Stan was awaiting our arrival and took us to our Sprinter Volkswagen that would be our home for the next five weeks. Looking around London while at the airport, I felt nothing. I thought I'd feel an excitement or at least positive anxiety about being in a new country and new environment for the first time in my life. The weather, gloomy and cold, reminded me of back home or at best Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I suppose I am disappointed in myself for not being able to shed my cynicism and jadedness but fuck, I fell down in front of a group of people. On a plane. Thousands of feet in the air. A grown man. Get off my back.

The remainder of the day was spent observing London through a rainy window, shuttled around in a vehicle that was clearly on the wrong side of the road! Eventually, we made it back to accommodating new friends who agreed to put all of us up for the night. Being Americans it was absolutely essential that we watch the Super Bowl. So that's where we are now. Being American. Explaining the rules of the game to confused and bored Englishmen. I like the way they talk. I haven't fainted again in almost 24 hours. Things may get better from here.

Off To Europe!

2009-01-31T01:17:00.003-05:00

So I was going to write this well thought out and heart felt piece about how grateful and lucky I am to be going overseas. You know, how punk rock saved my life, I owe so much to Polar Bear Club and I'm not worthy of such luck. Instead, I got really drunk on shitty whiskey. Fuck you, I'm going to Europe with my best friends. Take that ex girlfriends.

As always, www.myspace.com/polarbearclub for dates.

Past Weekend Roundup

2009-01-26T19:27:00.011-05:00

Well, over this past weekend Polar Bear Club played a couple shows locally. Specifically, we visited urban powerhouses Oneonta, Oswego and Rochester, New York. Like everyone, I enjoy getting away from home and playing out/tagging along for shows. However, weekends like these also are a bit of a tease and a bummer. All the shows were within an hour or two of home. This means that either PBC dudes are either going to go back to their own homes, their girlfriend's home or back to Emmett's in Syracuse. So, all the fun parts of tour or long distance traveling pretty much are thrown out the window. There's no real group hang, no meeting of new people, no real camaraderie. It's pretty much play a show, head home separately and show up again the next day. Kind of like actual work but with more drunk. So clearly the motivation behind these shows was to bleed kids dry of their parent's hard earned money before we go to Europe. Once in Europe, we will use the monies for cocaine made out of gold and prostitutes forged from the softest of silks. I have no idea what that even means but I do know it's a lie. I'm sure the money will be put towards mounting Bridge 9 debt but personally I'd like some fucking health insurance.

Well, that's another entry for another time. For now let's discuss the last couple of days, ok? I remember the last time Polar Bear Club played Oneonta, it was about a year and a half ago, possibly more. This show, like the last one, was on the actual campus. I'm always weary about college shows because I'm usually older than most of the professors on campus. To calm my nerves I took it upon myself to pound beers on the way there. Why? Because I'm an irresponsible man/child alcoholic who refuses to grow up or accept responsibility. THAT'S WHY. (Save me.)

The drive from Syracuse to Oneonta is over two hours so there was plenty of time to get wild and too much time between pee breaks. We were already running late so stopping at a restroom wasn't really high on the priority list. Steve Baby from Forfeit, who defines the term amateur hour, tagged along and at one point relieved himself into a coffee cup. Not having a top, Mr. Baby attempted to dump the cup of piss outside one of the side van windows refusing to take into account the other dudes in the possible line of fire. Needless to say, myself and my main man Wildcat Steve caught Steve's liquid waste in the face. Sometimes I share to much with you people. Ah, who knew adult hood would be so rewarding?

As far as the show went, I'd reckon there were at least 80 or so kids in attendance. Pretty good turnout considering Oneonta is in the middle of nowhere and the town's mayor is actually a cow. (The joke here being is that it's a really, really small town! Get it?! A cow! Hilarious. Fuck you, they can't all be winners.) I was looking forward to seeing The Knockdown again because as I've mentioned before, I'm a big fan of their music and them as people. I hope we head out on some east coast dates in the near future. Kids stuck around for Polar Bear Club and were definitely into the performance but I couldn't help but notice that PBC looked pretty tired up there which was probably due to this being their first show in over a month. Who am I to judge? I get exhausted when I sneeze. Someday I'll tell you all about the drive back to Syracuse, the mail fraud I committed, and the horrible acts I performed against my fellow man. For now let's just say that our friend Wildcat Steve gets the MVP award of the weekend for driving us home through a pretty bad snow storm.

The next day, Saturday, was the Oswego show. Oswego is about forty five minutes away from where we stayed in Syracuse. Oswego is also where I went to college for like eight years, you know, to become a doctor. For those too many years, I was the self proclaimed king of Oswego. Sure, no one else probably ever agreed with that assessment but I was looking forward to reclaiming my title - THE RETURN OF THE KING. Arriving in town tipsy, I soon realized that I didn't really have any friends left in Oswego, the town that Winter prefers and time forgets. There would be no coronation for me, the king was dead. For now on, the only loyal subjects I serve are my Sex And The City dvd's. There were some positive aspects of the night though, so no sweat. Forfeit and Like Wolves also played. Both great bands and good friends. I'm told their sets went over well. I have to be honest, I don't think I watched either band. Instead I chose to drink 40's in the van and listen to new PBC demos. While I'm a little disappointed that PBC didn't decide to delve into the fantasy metal genre like promised, I was still impressed with what I heard. Given the fact that college kids only returned to Oswego that very weekend, the turnout of over 100 kids was pretty impressive that night. After the show we split up again with Jimmy and myself returning to Emmett's in Syracuse and the others heading out with their significant others. While nothing too remarkable happened on the night I returned to my alma mater, I didn't catch any piss in the face and hey, I don't get to say that very often.

The final destination of the weekend was Rochester, New York the city that spawned myself, Jimmy, Nate, and Chris Browne. Chris of PBC was actually the promoter of the show so any type of failure or miscue could be squarely placed upon his shoulders, a twist that added to the excitement of the day. The venue was a bar called The Bug Jar, a space that hasn't actually housed an independent, punk or hardcore show on a Sunday in at least five years. I mean, the last time I saw a show at the Bug Jar, Marathon and Bad Business were still together (I'm older than you). It's funny, whenever we show up to a venue we're scheduled to play, the first thing I look for is the flyer for that particular show. It's usually a good sign of things to come when you see promotion of your show. When I don't see a flyer or poster of the show we're supposed to play, the first thing I think is "bad promotion, not gonna be a good turnout". Well, I didn't see any signs of life as far as poster art was concerned when it came to our show at the Bug Jar. Therefore, it was open season on the promoter aka the guitarist of Polar Bear Club, Chris Browne.

Polar Bear Club played Rochester sometime in 2008 with Gaslight Anthem and American Steel at a bigger venue called the Water Street Music Hall. The hometown crowd's response towards PBC could best be described as anemic. Due to this and the Bug Jar's lack of shows within the last five years led me to think that this PBC show could fail. Once again, Like Wolves and Forfeit were scheduled to play. Quickly, my anxiety and doubts about the Rochester show were put to rest when a half an hour before doors were to open, a line formed. Obviously, these aren't the things that determine whether a show is going to be a success or not. A large turnout doesn't always equal a great show. One of the most memorable shows I ever experienced was when The Killing Tree played in front of me and about twenty other people. But watching more and more kids stream in for what were all essentially local bands gave me goose bumps. Well, it was either goosebumps or the return of a pesky simplex virus. So thank you Rochester and thank you Chris, one of those things I'll never say again.

Things got a little tense however when the venue owner tried to cap the amount of people inside at 125 but after some coercing the owner relented and allowed everyone in. At the end of the day, there were over 200 people in attendance. The one part of the night I would love to forget is when I felt the need to stage dive. Well, it was more of a stage fall. I somehow forged my way up to the front, got on the stage and just fell over into a group of unsuspecting and terrified teenagers. At first the kids unionized, said "no, sir!" and actually pushed me back on the stage. While I'm used to rejection, this time I didn't take no for an answer and instead of jumping or diving , I just toppled over. So if you're reading this and if you were at the Rochester show, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I fell on you or I'm sorry you had to witness a geriatric embarrass himself. It won't be the last time.

So there it is, three days out with Polar Bear Club. Nothing exciting or mind blowing happened and yet I still managed to churn out at least eight paragraphs on the subject. This time next week I'll be in Europe. Good things happen to bad people.

I Lied

2009-01-09T16:36:00.006-05:00

So, yeah. I didn't start that blog about the Canadian dates like I promised. Instead I watched a bunch of Scrubs episodes. Don't you fucking judge me. Zack Braff's wackiness hits me harder than any drug I've ever put in my body. Anyway, I did find some pictures that I forgot about from our West Coast dates. Pictures are mostly from some California shows. Crime In Stereo, Broadway Calls and the Swellers make a couple cameos in the hot, hot photo ops. Click those posers up there or here for the wackness. Argh. I'm having trouble with the pictures I post on here. For some reason, they're getting cut in half. If I knew what I was doing, you'd see the rest of the band up there. I'm out of my element here, but you already knew that.

What, No Victory Records?

2009-01-08T18:18:00.013-05:00

Couple updates here, folks. So, as you may have heard, Polar Bear Club and Bridge 9 Records are currently sleeping with each other. If you haven't heard, well, that wild picture up there may clue you in or you can head over to http://www.bridge9.com/ to check out a cool animated thing that clearly doesn't feature my newly acquired beard enough. Personally, I'm very proud and excited for my friends. I hope this means a lot of touring with Ruiner and the opportunity for me to sleep with X'd up hardcore girls with low self esteem. (Jokes?)

Lately, PBC has been practicing feverishly five days a week in Syracuse and as of today, started to demo for their new record. I'm not sure of the specifics for I am stuck here in Rochester toiling away at a job that is crushing my spirit on the daily. In a couple weekends we head out for shows in Oswego, Rochester and Oneonta New York with Like Wolves, Forfeit (again?) and The Knockdown. Should be a blast. After that it's off to Europe where I anxiously await the day I can finally purchase the services of a hooker. As always, check PBC's myspace for dates and times.

If you look to the right, you'll notice I threw up a couple links to some other blogs. The first is courtesy of Ted from Another Breath. Apparently, Ted is documenting the writing and recording process of AB's next record. Fun fact about Ted - his full name is really long and pretentious sounding. I'd type it here if I could remember it but it makes you assume that he owns a yacht and a butler as hilarious as Benson. Hell, he just might! The fact remains that Another Breath is the best current hardcore band going and Ted's pecs could turn a gay man gayer.

The other link is to my good friend's site. His name is Nick Dynamite and he has a big brain. We went to college together and every now and again he pops back up in my life, gets really drunk, and alienates people. I love him. Anyway, his big brain leads to large words that I don't understand. He writes about all sorts of topics ranging from music, politics, technology and food. None of those things interest me but they may interest you.

I think that's it for now. Later tonight I'm going to start an entry about the Canadian dates with Cancer Bats and the Holly Springs Disaster. The focus of that entry will be less about humor and more about the alarming amount of Juggalos in attendance. But wait, there's more! Once I churn that out, I plan to do a belated Top 5 Polar Bear Club Members of 2008 entry. Here I will passively aggressively list PBC dudes from least favorite/unbearable to preferred/bearable. Keep your eyes peeled for that ground breaking piece of journalism.

P.S. new URL address for this blog, update your bookmarks, or don't, either one will get you here. www.polarblogclub.com

The Entry About Chicago Is Finally Done

2009-01-03T03:16:00.008-05:00

December 13 was the worst day of my life since that one time back in college when I threw up and shat at the same time. I swear to god I almost imploded. But getting back on track, in the wee hours of the 13th we rolled in to Chicago, most drunk on boxed wine, the others drunk on freezing temperatures and lack of sleep. Emmett had contacted an old friend, Adam, who offered to put us up for that night and agreed to house us until our show later on in the evening of the 14th. After picking up Adam we frantically parked the van and trailer, grabbed our stuff and began to walk to our shelter for the evening. I'm pretty sure I immediately went to bed, a bed I shared with Goose who insisted on sleeping head to toe in order to stave off my drunken advances. Good try Goose but no one's been able to stop me yet.

Early the next day we all woke up early in anticipation of going to a local vegetarian diner that Jimmy had been talking up for awhile. Nate and I headed out into the icy tundra to pick up the van and trailer while everyone else continued to get ready. Our vehicle was on a pretty major road in Chicago and panic began to set in as we walked further and further along the street with no sign of the huge white van and red trailer. We've all heard the horror stories of bands getting their entire lives stolen in a blink of an eye while they sleep somewhere else. The truth is, vans get stolen all the time, especially in major cities. I know if this was the case with us, the band would have been over right there. I mean, there is no way we could recover from such a financial and personal loss.

Eventually, we found the spot we were previously parked in. Since there wasn't any smashed glass anywhere it was decided that our van hadn't been stolen - it had been towed. Our suspicions were confirmed when I craned my head up and to the right to reveal a "NO PARKING, TOW AWAY ZONE". Damn you sweet lady booze, you win again. After a couple phone calls to local municipalities I located the impound lot where our livelihood had been taken. It was probably around noon at this point and we had about five hours until load in for the show that night. I figured we'd have everything taken care of within an hour or so. I put off eating for the day and Emmett and myself headed to the impound lot across town driven by Adam, letting everyone know we'd be back in a blink of an eye.

I've never been to an impound lot before, I've never had any reason to. I'm not sure what I expected but I sure as hell didn't expect a car graveyard mixed with a touch of Bosnia circa 1992. I mean, there was barbed wire, gates, rabid dogs, armed security guards, and oil fires ablazing! Half of that previous sentence may not be true but I do know that we were out of our element. It seemed that our adventure began in the nearest rusted out trailer on the property. It was early enough in the day to avoid any type of incredible line, or so I thought. As soon as we entered the trailer Emmett and I were smacked in the face with a line longer and more twisted than any lie I've ever told a woman. Inside that trailer was where happy went to die. Every person there was hungover, frustrated, ugly, miserable, and in dire straits - Emmett and I included.

While we began to soak in the atmosphere the situation became more and more dire. Signs posted all along the walls made it clear that in order to spring our van from prison we would basically need all original documents such as the registration, proof of purchase, Emmett's first born, and a blood and semen sample. Well, Lord knows Emmett's all out of semen and my body runs on alcohol so we were in some trouble. Add in the fact that no one in PBC actually owns the van or trailer. Our friends in Angry Penquin actually do, we're just lucky enough that they rent their wares to us at a great price. What that means is that all of the documentation for the vehicle was all the way back in New York State. Fuck our lives. Well, we decided to give the line a shot and hang out in a human lunch box for a bit. It seemed more and more unlikely we'd actually see the van again so plans were being made inside Emmett's and I's head about what to do about the next couple of shows booked. As much as we did not want to, if we couldn't get what we needed that day, shows would have to be cancelled, possibly the rest of the tour. Around this time some hobo heard us complaining and told us that he was once in a similar situation to ours in regards to not having any sort of documentation. His helpful advice was "Give up now. It's never going to happen." Hours had passed at this point and I've only taken advice from a hobo four times in my life. I wasn't about to make it five times. A bit longer we would wait.

Eventually, our heroes finally made it to the front of the line and came face to face with the enemy. Ever see or speak to a public servant in a large city? Horrible, ugly people. Trolls who eat the gooey insides from an infants' skull. Hitler combined with the competence of a drunken sloth. Yes, it's as bad as I'm making it sound. As soon as Emmett opened his mouth he was shot down by the attendant who was clearly drunk on her own power. After a ridiculous amount of time spent fucking around in line, we were blown off within minutes. Grasping at straws, Emmett asked to speak with a supervisor about the situation and we were told to exit through a different door to the side of the "building". I saw this as progress since we were leaving the tin can for a bit. Passing by the security guards (yes, security guards) we entered another trailer and began to speak with another ruler of our fate. This crotchety old bag wasn't as evil as the rest. She was more of a Mussolini to her Hitler counterpart. We explained our situation as clearly as we could. I'm pretty sure I even offered to go down on her in exchange for some sympathy. Per usual my sexual advances were turned down but she did half heartedly mention that if we could somehow get a notarized document from the CEO of Angry Penguin (the actual owner of the van) giving us permission to take the van of the property, we might be set. Finally, a chance at redemption!

I've always viewed Emmet as one of those shady salesman guys during the depression. You know, The dude who sold fake brain tonics and took advantage of down on their luck families in order to get by. Basically, a schemer and a bastard. I mean this all lovingly because it's those exact qualities that got PBC out of this mess. It was decided that we would head straight from the impound lot to Kinko's in order to draw up a fake professional business letter that would contain a plethora of extravagant lies! Most importantly, the letter would state that I, Trevor, was the CEO of Angry Penguin, which is hilarious in itself because the only thing I actually own is the complete Sex And The City dvd collection. (Um....) Furthermore, the document needed to state that I, Super Awesome CEO of Fuck Yeah!, willingly and knowingly gave permission to Emmett to drive both the van and trailer off the impound lot. Quickly, we typed and printed out our non truths and set off to find a notary republic that would aide and abet in our potentially illegal activities.

Deep, deep, deep in the ghettos of Chicago resides the greatest "store" of all time. The establishment I speak of offers all types of services ranging from check cashing, drivers license processing, cheap cell phones, and a 24 hour notary republic who eerily resembled Pizza The Hut from the movie Spaceballs. Here is where I thought our plan would come to a crashing halt. I assumed the notary would want some sort of proof stating that I was an actual business owner and not the borderline drug addict I've slowly become. Apparently, Chicago is the home of second chances and not giving a fuck because this giant toad of an employee only asked for a dollar for processing fees and away she went with her reckless signing! Huzzah! Another step complete in the Great Van Heist of 2008. I must admit, about this time I was feeling like a balder/frumpier Danny Ocean. Back to the impound lot we went.

Entering the main trailer again for what Emmett and myself hoped would be the final time that night, I noticed nothing had changed. In line were the same group of hostile citizens we encountered when our adventure began in the morning. This instance we would not wait in line. Armed with desperation, a notarized document that meant nothing in the real world, and a newly acquired confidence that only comes with being a fake CEO of a real company, Emmett and I breezed past the security guards and straight to the supervisor. Shoving a flurry of forged documents, lies, and boyish charm into her face, Emmett and I defeated the Bowser-esque Supervisor Boss Lady each gaining 100 experience points in level 3-2 of Never Coming Back to Chicago Again. Of course, this was not the last level as we were instructed to speak with another woman in order to get a whole bunch of bullshit signed and stamped. After that was taken care of, we were to enter an entire new room to finally pay our fine.

But wait! Before we could actually pay the cashier, I was allowed past the second security check point to find the van and trailer in the sea of bad decisions. Only I was allowed entrance for I was the one signing all the paperwork. Who knows what Emmett was doing at this point, perhaps he'll reveal that in his own blog entitled "Why Did I Decide To Start Touring Again After Marathon Broke Up." Anyway, I was given a vague description of where I might find our transportation by an armed individual who told me to go "Back there. For a long time." Well, that was good enough for me! Noticing it was almost two hours past load in time, I knew I had to speed things along. For perhaps the second time in the last five years, I used my legs for running instead of using them as heavy load baring devices. While I ran all I could think about was exactly how I was going to drive the van and trailer up to the main entrance. As I've alluded to before, PBC does not allow me to drive due to a panic attack I suffered at the wheel years before. Crossing my fingers, I silently prayed to Zeus hoping I wouldn't have to back up our ride.

Well, if you read my blog you know nothing ever goes my way, or so that's what I tell my therapist. When I reached my destination, the van and trailer were in a complete fucked up parking situation. Yes, if we were to get off that lot with what we needed, Trevor J., would have to accomplish the simplest of acts that even my two year old nephew could perform - I'd have to go in reverse. The whole backing up aspect took about twenty minutes, the crying took 15, and the sweet taste of victory will last a lifetime. I was able to free our van from the shackles of the parking space and drive the mother fucker to the main gate. All that was left was to pay the lovely city of Chicago for the privilege of spending an entire day inside their parking division Hooverville.

Since this entry has gone on longer than my career at Oswego State University (it took me six years to graduate with a four year degree) I'll try to wrap up this saga within the next paragraph. The last stop before we left the lot was to pay the cashier. Because both van and trailer were towed, PBC were forced to pony up 500 dollars in order to get back what was rightfully ours and since I have a heroin addiction that refuses to be quenched, I had that much money on me.There was no choice as to whether or not to pay the extraordinary fine. We had to finish the tour and we had to recover the trailer that was full of instruments and precious, precious illegal immigrants. So that's what we did. We paid the cashier while actually choking on the thought of being down 500 dollars. Emmett hopped in the driver's seat, I hopped in shotgun and we promised to never speak of all the dicks I had to suck in order to actually get the van out of impound purgatory. That's the real story, folks, I just made up all the other shit. Ah, we're having fun now!

Thanks for reading everyone. I promise to never be this long winded again.

As always, send women.

Home Now, Part 1 of.....3?

2008-12-23T01:34:00.010-05:00

There were numerous times during tour where I would hope to write something, anything about our current trip. Instead, I'd either stare at a blank screen and tell myself I'd write a hilarious, thoughtful and crass entry about life on the road....tomorrow. Well, that clearly never happened and now here we are, back from tour and home. No blog updates. Wait. Well, what about some pictures? Nah, I wasn't any good at snapping photos and the lesson I learned when I was young was if you're not good at something right away either quit or take a nap, so I did both. Either way, I promised myself I would write something tonight before the crushing weight of real life beat me down into a state of depression that would render both my brain useless. So, basically, I have ten minutes to finish this nuisance. Let's go.

Two weeks is a short time to be gone and this trip felt like it was actually broken up into two different parts. Well, three actually. This was due to touring with three different bands at three different times. In the beginning we started out with local friends and heroes, Forfeit. I'm told by the kids that they're a hardcore band. I don't really listen to hardcore anymore minus Ruiner and Another Breath. As I've mentioned over and over again I only have time for old Saves The Day and Third Eye Blind but I make an exception when it comes to Forfeit. I swear to god, if I still had health insurance I would have moshed for them in Boston. But alas, I'm old, don't drink milk and therefore brittle so I had to pass on owning the pit. For now. Either way, we only did a weekend with Forfeit which I believe entailed Syracuse, Albany, and Allston (Boston). All three of those dates were extremely well attended and while in Allston, during Polar Bear Club's cover of "Ten Minutes", I stage dove for the third time in my career as a show goer. After that particular show, Forfeit and PBC parted ways. Well, sort of. That night we stayed in the Allston area while Forfeit attempted to go back home for we no longer needed their services. Their attempt was futile however because the van they call home broke down about a half an hour out of town. But you know what? Enough about them. This isn't a Forfeit blog. If it were all entries would be about Floorpunch, lifting weights and weed. Man, that doesn't sound so bad. Tell Steve Baby to get on that.

After a date by ourselves in New Haven, Connecticut, we headed out towards Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to meet up with tourmates Fireworks and once again The Swellers. Yep, The Swellers. Again. I think this was our third time out with that band since August. I could be wrong about that but details, specifics and women have never been my speciality. The point is this. If I had to liken The Swellers to a sexually transmitted disease, well, one that I may or may not have, it would be herpes. They're permanent and impossible to get rid of. So what do you do? In the case of herpes, you borrow your mother's cover up and hope you don't sweat that day. In the case of The Swellers, you lie and tell them it's great to see them and that we're totally going to do this again sometime. Yes, you lie. Oh, I'm kidding. About the herpes.

As far as Fireworks is concerned, I was really looking forward to playing shows with them. Goose and I are big fans of the band and it's always good to have a band on tour that you're excited to see play every night. While I didn't get to really talk to any of the guys in Fireworks in Philadelphia, the show was a success and actually sold out. The next two shows after Philadelphia were in Baltimore, Maryland and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and both without The Swellers. I didn't actually get to watch any bands at the Baltimore shows due to the venue reaching capacity. Instead, for once I sat behind the merch table, which was upstairs, and fulfilled my duties as merch guy. The show in Pittsburgh had a mediocore turnout but the space was exceptional based on the fact that you could bring your own booze into the venue. That night, Fireworks and PBC both holed themselves up in the same house after a night of boozery at a local bar that currently escapes my memory. The highlight of 14 dudes sharing the same floor space was one of the Fireworks roadies sharing his ability to fart on command. Ah, adulthood.

I just sat here for close to twenty minutes trying to figure out where the fuck we went after Pittsburgh. I had to ask my mom. She knew right off the bat. She should be PBC's tour manger. It was Indianapolis, Indiana in the basement of a church. While the show attendance was a bit thin, positive aspects of the show included a Christian opening band that included a keyboardist that looked eerily similiar to David Bryan of Bon Jovi and a wheel chair bound man circle pitting. Side note, don't ask me why I know what the keyboardist of Bon Jovi looks like, the 80's were tough on us all. I'm pretty sure we drove directly through to Chicago immediately after the show since we were scheduled to play there the following night. I remember the weather was as cold and bitter as most women I'm attracted to so it was decided that drinking boxed wine in the van was the only way to stay warm.

That's it for now. Tomorrow I tell you about my seven hours spent in an impound lot in Chicago. Until then, send women.

P.S. Listen to Make Do And Mend, we played a show with them in New Haven. Good music.

So Tour Starts Today...

2008-12-05T09:18:00.004-05:00

...If you want to call it that. Two weeks? Fuck, I want to go back out for two months. Next thing I know I'll be at my shitty job, sleeping on a futon and probably covered in cat hair. I should have listened to my high school guidance counselor. Anyway, we're in Syracuse tonight and it should be a fun show, my band gets to play this one too. Looking forward to seeing Fireworks blah, blah, blah. I have nothing funny or witty to say. www.myspace.com/polarbearclub for dates. See you out there.

Edit: That flyer up there is supposed to be a lot bigger but I'm too hung over to make sense of it. There's a penis joke somewhere in that last sentence but I can't figure that out either.

Never Trust A Big Butt And A Smile

2008-11-22T00:09:00.006-05:00

So, sometime during mid October Polar Bear Club played a show in Portland, Oregon. It was my first time ever in that particular city and I had heard a lot of good things about the place. Well, actually I just heard that a lot of hippie/punk kids now call Portland their home. The only thing I noticed was the absurd amount of hobos. Anyway, the show was incredible, well attended and our first with good friends Broadway Calls. I also got to see my friend Aaron Scott of Marathon and now Attica! Attica!

Aaron has always been someone I've respected musically and personally and I was stoked when he offered to put some of us up for the night. I just knew that me and Aaron would talk all night about subjects ranging from film, literature, politics, art history and world travel.

No, just kidding. I only care about saves the day, boobs, and beer. We actually got fucked up on liquor and dressed Goose up in costumes. No, Goose is not a Klansman up there, he's a drunk ghost. Enjoy.

Post Tour Blues

2008-11-20T11:05:00.002-05:00

Hi There.

2008-11-07T20:49:00.005-05:00

Well, we're all home. Great. You know what I did today? I watched local news all day with my parents. All day. One day home and I'm already fixin' to leave town again. I can't stress enough how much of a ghost town this place is for me nowadays. Let me live with you. Feed me. Pay my bills. Groom me. I pay dividends in the sack, I swear. That last sentence is a lie but check out
some pictures I put up from The Fest. Click here for the hot flix.

Almost Home

2008-11-05T11:18:00.003-05:00

Well, we have two more days left of tour and then we're home. All of us are under the weather and looking for a chance to rest up for a bit. Tonight is in Columbus, Ohio where we actually started the tour two months ago. Tomorrow is Cleveland, Ohio and then straight back to Rochester/Syracuse.

We should talk about the Fest for a bit since I never came through on drunkin' update promises. The Fest this year marked my third time attending the event and I had the most amount of fun this year. Of course, I was drunk the whole time, why would you even ask? The Fest is all about the booze. It's also running into friends and acquaintances you haven't seen in awhile. I was pretty surprised at the number of people I actually knew considering I'm the type of person who never leaves his home and jars his urine/semen. I wasn't able to catch all the bands I wanted to see but was pleased that I did catch Ruiner, Strike Anywhere, Bouncing Souls, Lemuria, Broadway Calls, The Swellers, The Flatliners, and so on. I'd link you to all of those bands' myspaces but I'm in a strangers' house not wearing any pants. Yes, she knows we're here but time is of the essence.

Polar Bear Club played to a packed house and then tore down previously mentioned house. The house I speak of was torn down with power chords, high fives, stage dives, and Nate's beard. Emmett, the drummer of PBC stage dove, I stage dove, others stage dove as well but I was too busy being 18 to catch any of their names. Of course, I'm biased but in my eyes and groin, PBC played the best set of the Fest. And you missed it! For shame!

I want to write more about this when I get home but people extending their homes, hospitality, food and good times are the best people on earth. Friends, new friends and strangers all helping us out on a nightly basis. Thank you so much. Ok, I think we're ready to go, I'm still not putting on those pants so don't ask. Expect a lot more updates when we finally get home. Can we try and find me a job, please? In the mean time, listen to The Knockdown.

Hey! The Fest!

2008-10-31T16:22:00.003-04:00

So, we just got to The Fest and it's already a zoo. People standing in a line that leads out the entrance of the hotel just to register. Well, not us, we're in a band. Bands don't wait in line. My advice to the kids? Learn to play guitar or at least make friends with people who have talent. Drunken updates to come.

There's another entry below this one, read that one instead.

Still Not Dead?

2008-10-30T19:56:00.001-04:00

I'm exhausted. Weeks ago we started to make the trek back east - the adventure home. Tonight we find ourselves in Tallahassee, Florida. Tonight also marks the first show without Crime In Stereo, a band that joined us a week or two ago. Yep, I said friends. Who would of thought that we'd enjoy the company of a group of Strong Island kids. I mean, come on - I went to a SUNY school drowning in down state dudes. I know the drill - shitty accents and chin straps. Oh, stop. I'm kidding. Seriously though, listening to Matt of C.I.S. is like having your little sister ear fuck your skull with a broken beer bottle dildo. You know what I'm saying? Again, I'm kidding (slightly). Great dudes and an even better band. Crime In Stereo "Is Dead" gives me an erection that I haven't had since the early 90's.

But, man, I haven't been updating and I apologize to all three of you. It's hard to borrow a friends' computer for a couple of hours in order to compose such verbal symphonies. This is art, motherfuckers and it demands time as well as perfection.

Either way, soon we'll be home. I believe the plan is to be back at our respective residences on November 7th. I'm a bit burned out at this point and part of me looks forward to the comfort of home. Of course, the other part of me wants to stay out forever. The road warrior side of Trevor doesn't want to come home because that means I have to get a job again in order to pay my already delinquent bills. The kicker is, I can only work for one month because Polar Bear Club will be leaving again in early December. I cannot go back to my old job, Daddy burned that bridge. My best chance of bringing in any money is to take some shit job in food service or a factory. At my age, working in either of those fields will be quite humbling. I'm starting to regret that whole "going to college thing", or at least the criminal justice degree. Look where that got me! But this is the life choice I made. And fuck, I'm going to Europe in February. What are you doing? You're reading the ramblings of a mad man! Advantage: me!

Oh, you don't want to read about me anymore? How have the shows been you ask? Well, since we left California shows have been more miss than hit. While Phoenix, Arizona brought out almost 150 kids, New Orleans overwhelmed us with eight. Shows such as New Orleans make me question whether I made the right choice as far as trading in health insurance and a steady paycheck for sleeping on cold floors and smelling like dick dipped in bacon. But hey, I made it to California for the first time in my life and I just might make it back home. Not a bad place.

Fest this weekend, mother fuckers. A weekend of shitty beards, jean shorts, and pale overweight kids. Oh, some great bands too. I plan on being crowned gladiator of all beers. Do say hello.

P.S. I may have mentioned this before but we did a bunch of dates with Broadway Calls, one of the best bands going. Check them out and support them fully. If I had to describe their sound I'd say it's catchy pop punk mixed with your favorite ex girlfriend that you miss and pine for every night. She's never going to leave him, ok? So stop texting her.

Remember Me?

2008-10-17T14:59:00.009-04:00

Man, I still don't have my fucking computer. Don't ever buy a Hewlett Packard or Compaq. They're shittier than my last ex girlfriend. They're probably more emotionally stable however. Either way, not having a computer isn't a huge issue. I mean, I also don't have health insurance. I have to admit, I miss the laptop more. Who needs to see a doctor? The way I see it, that lump on my balls will work itself out.

Today we find ourselves in Hollywood, California on a day off. This comes after a string of great shows in the area. Since we hooked up with Broadway Calls and Crime In Stereo all shows have been well attended and all the bands have been very well received. California has been very kind to us with at least a hundred kids at most shows. My only complaint is that every single person here looks better than me. Even hobo trannies have that special something. Me? I have Nate.

Currently, we're staying with our friend Jake in a house that overlooks the entire city and I'm told the hot girl from Heroes lives next door. Goose claims to have seen her but he also claims that he's just big boned and not fat. Hey-o! That's a horrible thing to say but hey, I use insults as a defense mechanism. I hate myself. Anyway, there's an in ground pool and a separate room that doubles as a practice space. Polar Bear Club is in there now working on some songs as well as a cover they hope to play in December. I just finished off a great episode of Friday Night Lights but I digress...

I'm not a big fan of days off, I'd rather keep going. It's understandable why the dudes need a day of rest, however. PBC shows are usually pretty intense and each member seems to put a lot of energy into what they do. Myself on the other hand, well, all I do is keep the party alive. And let me tell you, I do a great job of that. I'm like the CEO of Party Town. Well, maybe the mayor.

On down time there is usually a ton of things to do whether it be laundry, general errands or a van clean. In fact, I just folded Jimmy's laundry. I swear, he has prettier underwear than any girl that has the misfortune of spending the night with me. Dream boat. Either way, nothing too exciting but very necessary. On the other hand, at times, there is absolutely nothing to do except hurry up and wait. It's days like this that almost make me wish I was home, if I had a real home. I miss little comforts. For instance, there is nothing I'd rather do right now than hang out with certain family members for a bit, watch an episode (or nine) of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and eat a bowl of cereal. But when you're with a group of six people, you have to compromise and do what everyone else needs to do. Compromise is hard when you're a selfish, selfish man that only cares and looks out for number one. But hey, I'm trying.

Tomorrow we start playing shows again. I believe tomorrow is in the San Diego area, Victorville to be precise. (I could totally be wrong on this, I mean, Dave just handed me a beer so once again it's time to be awesome.) From there we head down south, through Texas to Florida and back up the east coast until we make it home some time in November. There will be December dates announced soon and the really big news is that we're headed to Europe in February with The Gaslight Anthem. Dreams are coming true and yet I still live with my parents and haven't touched a boob in years. Compromise, kids.

Pictures soon? Eh, maybe. For now, I'm going to try and come up with different ways to hide a receding hairline other than wearing a baseball cap. Tell my mom I love her.

Yours,
Me.

(Thanks for everything Dave, you are the bringer of the fun.)

Lagwagon

2008-10-08T23:25:00.003-04:00

There's this song called "Sleep" by one of my favorite bands of all time, Lagwagon. It's about being on tour and missing your significant other. I wouldn't know anything about missing a loved one but there's also a line in the song about being drunk for seven days in a row. In honor of this awesome song and lyric, I am now drunk for the seventh day in a row. Hail to the king, baby. We're in Wyoming. Cowboys are scary.

Porno 1, Trevor 0

2008-10-04T14:44:00.002-04:00

MY COMPUTER IS DESTROYED.
TECHNOLOGY IS THE DEVIL.
WILL EXCHANGE HJ'S FOR A MAC.

FAST AND FURIOUS IS A RIP OFF OF POINT BREAK.

no new posts for a bit.

Hiatus

2008-10-02T00:15:00.003-04:00

So Polar Bear Club parted ways with Gaslight Anthem a couple of days ago and we all miss them terribly. Three Polar Bears flew back home for a bit. We don't miss them at all. The rest of us drove for two days straight to get to Denver, Colorado and now here we are in a hotel. Soon, Polar Bear Club resumes tour with such great bands and Crime In Stereo, Broadway Calls, The Swellers, and A Wilhelm Scream. Check PBC's myspace for dates and to see which bands are playing which show. In the meantime, the three of us are going to hang out in this hotel, (hopefully not speaking to eachother) and get high. Well, I'm getting high. Fuck the other two squares. I uploaded a bunch of new pictures from various shows and various hangouts. My favorites include the pictures of us on Bourbon Street. Click on those four handsome fucks up above to see the goods.

I lied. I miss Goose like the desert misses the rain. Come home.

Eh. I Got Nothing For Ya.

2008-09-29T19:15:00.009-04:00

Hey, there friends! I say friends because I probably actually know the five of you who still read this god damn thing. Posts have been infrequent but rest assured, the fun/pain train is at full speed. Well, it will be until later tonight when we once again part ways with The Gaslight Anthem. Polar Bear Club will begin a hibernation that lasts until October 7th I believe. Three of us will be relaxing in Denver, Colorado while the remaining Bears head home for a bit to see family members and girlfriends. I had a girlfriend once in the 90's. Ah, those were the days.

Tonight I'm typing from Little Rock, Arkan-sass. I'm told the show has actually started but you wouldn't know by the attendance. Craning my gigantic head from side to side reveals about two actual paying customers. Ever go to a show and try to buy a t shirt and the douche bag merch guy is too busy fucking around on a laptop checking his myspace? You know, completely ignoring you and not doing his/her job? Well, that's the move I'm pulling right now. Fuck the kids. Eh, I'm kidding, I love the kids.

To be honest with you, I could fall asleep or vomit right now, maybe even both. Once again, I have eaten too much food. Goose and I are training hard for an upcoming grilled cheese eat off competition. Basically, whichever one of us eats the most grilled cheese sandwiches in one hour will go on to compete against one of the members of The Gaslight Anthem crew. Goose and I's match is like a one round playoff to enter The Big Dance. What does the winner receive? Looks of disgust and horror I would imagine; probably nothing else. Anyway, to prep for the event the Goose and I went pizza slice for pizza slice resulting in both of us each consuming five slices. While I now find myself in a half alive/mostly dead sad state of affairs, Goose can be found dancing to the Jackson 5 and playing a mean set of air drums to "Hot For Teacher" by Van Halen. Goose is a cyborg man/boy creature.

Yeah, so a couple weeks ago we were on tour with American Steel, and Gaslight Anthem. We dropped off for a bit to do some shows with a band called Static Radio without the two aforementioned bands. To say those shows were less than kind to us would be a tremendous understatement. As you might have read previously, a show in Augusta Georgia had about nine people come out. Of course, I'm complaining, it's what I do. However, I don't mean to put any blame on the promoter or the actual kids in that part of the state. The show was tremendously last minute and the dude who put the show on fed us which often is more important than turnout or merch sales. That leads us to a couple of days ago when we hopped back on with Gaslight accompanied by O Pioneers. Still in the South, still some hit or miss shows attendance wise. The biggest highlight during this time was somehow ending up on Bourbon Street while in Louisiana. I cannot wait to upload some of the pictures from this night. Now here we are. Tonight. Just you and I.

Believe it or not, I'm actually typing this entry while Polar Bear Club is playing. This might come off as rude to some, PBC not included, but not as rude as most of the people sitting in chairs while watching tonight's performance. Listen fuckers. I've earned the right to sit. I fetch these bastards their water, collect their money, tell them they don't look fat in those jeans, and every night somehow convince them that "Yeah, man, everything sounded awesome." Sure, y0u motherscratchers paid about ten dollars to get into this club but that doesn't mean you can just sit down while Jimmy is up there hamming it up and telling jokes that a four year old wouldn't laugh at. You could at least come over here and tip me! Wait, no, not you fatty, your friend. Dammit.

Alright, I'm all over the place here.But you know what? Who cares? I have no writing experience or background. I have a criminal justice degree. I could totally be a correctional officer. Get bent. Let's wrap this up so I can watch Gaslight Anthem. What we got going on here is a couple of things. First, I now fit into a large sized hoodie whereas at the beginning of this tour I was a medium. Second, to prevent the need for elastic waist band clothing I've taken up smoking again. Get over it. Lastly, I'm growing a moustache. Believe it or not, I'm a balder, fatter, John Waters. 22 year old girls eat that shit up. No joke. I can't wait to get North. Be well.

The South Will Not Rise Again...

2008-09-24T20:10:00.000-04:00

...at least not tonight. There are nine people at this show. There will be no pictures, only frowns.

Some Albany and Richmond Pictures....

2008-09-23T23:22:00.003-04:00

Gone Country

2008-09-23T22:42:00.005-04:00

Tonight is our first day off of tour and we’re staying with a friend in Nashville, Tennessee. We came back here after the show in Louisville, Kentucky. Last night was the first show without The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel. In a couple of days, we meet back up again with Gaslight but unfortunately, we won’t be seeing American Steel again for a long time. Hopefully, we get a chance to play some shows with them again. The whole premise of bonding with another band and being bummed once they’re gone is pretty cliché and boring but in this case; it’s really true, especially for me.

As a fan of American Steel for about ten years, it was a dream come true to be able to meet those dudes as well as watch them from the side of the stage. The fact that they are humble and outrageously nice individuals just made the whole experience even better. Of course, everything I typed goes for Gaslight Anthem as well, but like I mentioned before, we meet up with them again soon. Who knows if we’ll ever see American Steel ever again. Perhaps that’s a good thing, I mean, you see that bruised eye at the top of the page? That’s my eye and my bruise courtesy of Scott, the drummer from American Steel. I’m not sure what happened exactly but I can tell you the encounter was fueled by booze, a misplaced friendly head butt and now me looking manly for the first time in my life.

Either way, like I said, here we are with no show to play. It’s nice to have some time off in order to accomplish real world tasks that need attending to. On show days, it’s difficult to take care of laundry, get an oil change, masturbate six times within one hour, watch House, and change a tire on a trailer. However, I’d rather be busy doing show day things such as driving to a new city, peeing in Vitamin water bottles because we’re too late for load in to make another stop, boozing as soon we finally do load in, setting up merch, sweating hard, creeping out girls, disappearing for hours from the merch table, sweating hard(er), counting money whilst intoxicated, and maybe ducking my head in to check out a PBC song or two. Good news, though, even on a day off it’s possible to get drunk. Oh! What timing! Goose and Emmet have arrived with burrito making ingredients and beer! I’m going to go get fatter now! Take care!

Getting Caught Up

2008-09-20T11:27:00.003-04:00

So I’m trying to bring the blog up to date as far as where we have been and where we are headed today, which happens to be Richmond, Virginia. Shows I haven’t really mentioned yet are Rochester, NY, Albany, NY and last night’s show in Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania. So let’s make this quick so I can go back to napping and smelling like an onion sandwich.

Basically, on the way towards the Rochester show our bus continued to make horrible, ungodly noises. We split the drive from Ohio to Rochester by staying with our friends The Sidekicks in Cleveland, Ohio. The next morning we rose super early but a couple hours into the trip we came to the realization that our bus was completely un-drivable. Once again we had to pull off the main highway to come up with a plan B. I believe we were somewhere near Erie, Pennsylvania.

A couple of the guys in PBC have Triple A so after a lot of cursing it was decided that we would call a tow truck to tow us as far Triple A would take us - which ended up being Hamburg, New York. The main catch here was finding a truck that would be able to accommodate a bus as large ours and a tow truck driver who wouldn’t mind all of us chilling in the van whilst atop the tow truck.

Things didn’t look good when the grizzled, old time prospector of a driver showed up. Dude looked old school and by the book. Gus Chiggins, as we’ll call him, explained that it was illegal to have anyone in the bus while he towed us. Therefore, only two people could ride up in the actual truck while the rest of us were fucked. However, after the promise of gold coins are rare doubloons, Gus allowed the rest of us to ride in the bus on the stipulation that we all hid from authorities. On the ground. In the bus.

So there we were, three adults, hiding on the floor of a bus we all despised more than the dudes in The Swellers. Moving, rocking and shaking, fearing for our lives - again. In Hamburg, NY our friend Isaac agreed to pick us in his van and drive us to our hometown show in Rochester. So thanks to the kindness and generosity of others, Polar Bear Club was able to make the Rochester show.Without the help of Syracuse friend Wildcat we would not have been able to make the following shows either. So as of last week we were actually on our third van of a tour that wasn’t even a week old.

So, to quickly bring us all up to speed:
Rochester show – show started way too early for a show on a weekday, awkward crowd response, it was nice for me personally to see lots of Oswego/Syracuse friends in particular Ted AB who gets better looking by the day.

Albany show – sweaty, best crowd response yet, stage dives, a couple high fives, I peed in a weird part of the city and I may now have poison Ivy on personal places. Favorite show as of yet.

New York City show – Knitting Factory again, no Gaslight this time, good turnout, worst I’ve ever smelled, very tired, had to cut out on the show early to go see Lagwagon in Times Square. I FUCKING MET JOEY CAPE. FUCK. Friends put us up for the night and I finally got to shower, everyone wins.

Wilkes Barre show – last time we were in this city we went to the local Taco Bell and there was only one employee there. She had her two children, both under the age of ten, in back with her helping her fill orders. Hard to gauge the crowd response, I think kids were into the newer songs more than the older ones, which is a first of tour. Had to drive right back to Syracuse to pick up our fourth van of tour.

Yeah, we’re onto a new van thanks to our friends in Angry Penguin. This one is pretty much brand new, comfortable, and thankfully, we don’t really have to even talk to each other if we don’t want to. (I don’t want to). We’re on our way down south and finally ready to make a go of this. See everyone soon.

Real Problems

2008-09-18T02:30:00.008-04:00

Right now it's Thursday morning and once again I'm up before everyone else. We're in some part of new york city after playing a show at the Knitting Factory with American Steel. I haven't had much time to sit down and bang out a couple of entries here and there because I've been pretty busy. I suppose the band has as well but I'm trying to focus more on me now. It's good for the self esteem. Anywho, I'm currently acting as tour manger for Polar Bear Club, holding down merch duties, taking pictures each night, and most importantly, making sure Jimmy has the two pounds of heroin he requires before each show. While things are going pretty well now, there were certainly some setbacks that marred our first week as a full time touring band.

You see that expensive piece of trash at the top of the page? The Mistake On Wheels being lifted up on some sort of man device? Yeah, that's our van/slash bus for the next couple of months. Well, it was supposed to be but as early as day one that motherfucker started giving us serious adult type problems. The first show of tour was in New Jersey at Rutgers University with the Gaslight Anthem. Forty minutes outside of town the van started leaking various fluids and making horrible banshee type noises I haven't heard since my last unattractive girlfriend. After scrambling around and trying to make accommodations , PBC had to cancel the first show of tour after barely making it out of Syracuse. There would be no show but some of us still had to drive to New Jersey in order to pick up all of the merch we had shipped to the venue. It was absolutely necessary considering there were about eight boxes of t shirts delivered. Thankfully, a kind friend was generous enough to let us borrow his van to make the trip. Nate, Jimmy, and I made the depressing trip to New Jersey, picked up our wares, and headed straight back to Syracuse, NY to prepare for the following night's show in Columbus, Ohio.

While a couple of us drove to New Jersey the other half of PBC tended to the broken down van. So, collectively, we thought our transportation problem was behind us as we loaded up and set off for Columbus, Ohio. For a brief amount of time everything worked out for the best. Polar Bear Club reached Columbus and the venue which was called Bernie's. Just getting to the show was a relief but I personally was more concerned with meeting and seeing American Steel since I've been a fan going on ten years now. After accomplishing that personal goal, PBC played an intense set that I briefly already wrote about a couple of entries down. Fan reaction was fierce (I used a thesaurus) and almost overwhelming at points. After having to cancel the first show of tour, a reception such as this was really unexpected and necessary to keep us going. I posted a link for Ohio pictures in the entry before this one but if you missed it, you can also click here.

I can't remember where we slept that night or if we even hung out after the show. What you can count on though is that I was drunk. The next day the plan was to head to Covington, Kentucky which I'm told is near Cincinnati Ohio. (Side note, from now on, instead of saying "the van" or "the bus" I'm just going to refer to that money pit as Fuck Face.) So on this day. Fuck Face began by cooperating with us. Mother Nature on the other hand decided to break our balls. Our commute was hampered by seventy mile an hour winds on a stretch of highway that didn't have any trees or buildings to take the brunt of the force. That meant that Fuck Face dangerously rocked and swayed along the highway as we held on for life inside. Everyone was really nervous about getting into an accident and having something really deadly happen. Members of PBC sent half serious texts to their loved ones just in case Fuck Face decided to tip over and get in the way of an 18 wheeler. I didn't text anyone because all I have is my dog Poncho and he died over ten years ago.

Halfway into the drive we received a phone call from Gaslight Anthem's tour manager informing us that the show had already been canceled. Apparently, the high winds knocked out all of the electricity in the city we were scheduled to play in. Later on I would find out that buildings were actually being blown over due to the strength of the winds. Obviously everyone was disappointed but we were releaved that we could pull off the highway and figure out what our next step would be. The priority was staying safe as well finding a gas station since we were way past E. I'm not exactly sure where we pulled off into but it quickly became clear that this city didn't have any power either. This meant all the gas stations were unable to give us the precious fuel Fuck Face so desperately needed. PBC decided to pull off into a Wendy's, turn Fuck Face off and hope for the storm to blow over. If and when the city ever got power back, we would gas up and head back the way we came in order to make our show in Rochester, New York. However, we had a bigger problem on our hands that we needed to take care of post haste. Goose had to take a dump, and since most business had closed down, Goose was in trouble.

From what I'm told Goose waddled into the nearest hotel and made friends with the front clerk who offered us shelter from the hurricane type storm. The front clerk also offered us free reign of the hotel swimming pool, bathrooms, and even gave us a free room for a couple of hours. The best part about the whole situation was the busload of senior citizens who were also given the same free deal from the front desk clerk. Finally, women on tour my own age.

Fuck. I have to go, we're going to breakfast. I'll write more later today. Or tomorrow. Or next week. I'm an adult, I do what I want.

Ohio Pictures

2008-09-18T02:30:00.002-04:00

Click on Handsome Nate for a limited amount of Ohio pictures.

I Need A Shower

2008-09-14T10:28:00.003-04:00

I'm sitting in a living room somewhere in Ohio, sweating bullets, sans pants and awake before everyone else. It's been an intense couple of past days. The show in Columbus last night was pretty unbelievable but in the best way possible. Turn out for the show was over 200 and kids went wild for PBC. So wild in fact that midway through their set, I had to take leave of them in order to feel safe in back of the room. I was near Nate taking pictures and the crowd was so overwhelming that I had to make a run for it.

The real story though starts the night before. Both Gaslight and PBC were booked for Rutgers University in New Jersey. We left Syracuse, NY around 11am in order to make load in time at 4:30pm. We made it about twenty minutes out of Syracuse before our van started leaking some sort of fluid. Emmett tried his best to fix the god damn money pit but in the end, after some serious scrambling, we came up with a plan to borrow a van from some friends.

We didn't have enough time to rent a trailer for the new van so the plan was to pile both the equipment and all of us into a vehicle that was clearly only meant for one or the other. It soon became apparent that we were running out of time and there just wasn't enough room in the new van for instruments and 1200 pounds of man.

Unfortunately, Polar Bear Club had to cancel their show at Rutgers University in New Jersey.

The kicker here is that six boxes of our merch had been shipped and already arrived in New Jersey earlier in the morning in anticipation of us playing the show. So whether we liked it or not, some of us still had to go to New Brusnwick in order to pick up all the merch we needed for the rest of the tour.

Nate and Jimmy volunteered to make the drive while everyone else took care of our original van that clearly needed so quality time with a wrench and Emmett. Somehow I got roped into the New Jersey road trip which baffles my mind because I don't really contribute to a long distance road trip. Trevor refuses to drive a van. Ever. But that's a story for a different time. So........ to make an insufferably long story even longer, a trio of jerks drove into New Jersey in order to get six or eight boxes of t shirts. As soon as we picked up the t shirts, we headed straight back to Syracuse to prepare for last nights show in Columbus. That's a lot of fucking driving on not a lot of sleep.

But here we are today eventually making the two hour drive to Kentucky. Being able to see both American Steel and Gaslight Anthem on a nightly basis is a dream come true and makes up for any type of nightmare drive through the night into New Jersey.

I'm sweating so fucking hard. Goose just turned over and I think I saw his balls. It's going to be a good day. See you soon, kids.

Forever Yours,
Trevor

**Pictures soon, camera is in the van****

Leaving Soon....

2008-09-05T01:08:00.002-04:00

you know how people always say "music is my life"? well, maybe people don't actually say the phrase but you usually read it on a teenagers' myspace in the about me section. it's usually followed up with a long list of bands on their ipod. the thing is, music currently is my life. ok, wait. that's not true. my life actually is balding, touching thyself, and snacking. BUT, music is currently paying off my car loan so I think I have more ownership over the aforementioned phrase than the teen who cuts Bayside lyrics into their forearm. thanks, polar bears!

point being, polar bear club leaves in about a week on a tour that will take us away for about two months or so. there will be breaks here and there but essentially, Daddy's leaving town. i'm ready to be gone, i have no connections here other than my parents and some high school friends. everyone i'm close to is in pbc, and hell, i can hardly stand them. you see, ever since i graduated high school, i partied. i refused to change. insisting on living in the moment, i never settled down. when i did meet Her, she left for Him. year after year, i would not grow up and the next thing i knew, i woke up, and I was old. this isn't real talk kids, it's sad talk.

uplifting, no? so, i'm not going to learn my lesson and i'm going to live in the moment a tad bit longer.

let's hope we never come home.

Sep 13 2008 8:00P
Bernie’s Distillery with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel Columbus, Ohio

Sep 14 2008 8:00P
Mad Hatter with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel Covington, Kentucky

Sep 15 2008 8:00P
The Club at Water Street Music Hall with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel Rochester, New York

Sep 16 2008 6:30P
Valentines with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel Albany, New York

Sep 17 2008 6:30P
The Knitting Factory Tap Room with AMERICAN STEEL New York, New York

Sep 18 2008 6:30P
Cafe Metropolis with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania

Sep 19 2008 8:00P
The Canal Club with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel Richmond, Virginia

Sep 20 2008 8:00P
Local 506 with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel Chapel Hill, North Carolina

Sep 21 2008 8:00P
Exit/In with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel Nashville, Tennessee

Sep 22 2008 6:30P
Skull Alley Louisville, Kentucky

Sep 25 2008 6:00P
Cave 9 Birmingham, Alabama

Sep 26 2008 6:00P
House Of Blues with The Gaslight Anthem and O Pioneers!!! New Orleans, Louisiana

Sep 27 2008 8:00P
Rock Bottom with The Gaslight Anthem and O Pioneers!!! San Antonio, Texas

Sep 28 2008 6:00P
Prophet Bar with The Gaslight Anthem and O Pioneers!!! Dallas, Texas

Sep 29 2008 8:00P
Vino’s with The Gaslight Anthem and O Pioneers!!! Little Rock, Arkansas

Oct 7 2008 9:00P
Surfside 7 Ft. Collins, Colorado

Oct 12 2008 7:00P
Satyricon with BROADWAY CALLS Portland, Oregon

Oct 15 2008 8:00P
Thee Parkside with CRIME IN STEREO AND BROADWAY CALLS San Francisco, California

Oct 16 2008 8:00P
The Knitting Factory with CRIME IN STEREO AND BROADWAY CALLS Hollywood, California

Oct 17 2008 6:00P
The Glasshouse with CRIME IN STEREO and BROADWAY CALLS, Pomona, California

Oct 20 2008 7:00P
Angel’s Roadhouse with CRIME IN STEREO, BROADWAY CALLS and THE SWELLERS Apple Valley, California

Oct 24 2008 7:00P
The Warhol with CRIME IN STEREO, BROADWAY CALLS and THE SWELLERS San Antonio, Texas

Oct 25 2008 6:00P
Red 7 with CRIME IN STEREO, BROADWAY CALLS and THE SWELLERS Austin, Texas

Oct 26 2008 7:00P
The Mink with CRIME IN STEREO. BROADWAY CALLS and THE SWELLERS Houston, Texas

Oct 31 2008 8:00P
The Fest 7 Gainesville, Florida

Week Wrap Up

2008-09-02T16:01:00.010-04:00

Tour is a strange thing even if it's only for five days. We're home now after five days out with The Swellers in Canada as well as a show in Vermont. Before this past week, none of us from PBC and The Swellers really knew each other. I mean, there were text messages and emails sent back and forth but no real face to face time. So, when you tour with another band, in my opinion, it's quite essential that everyone hits it off since you'll be spending so much time together. On the flipside, I suppose you don't have to spend any time together if you don't feel a common connection. Luckily, as the cliche goes, The Swellers were great people who made the past trip a blast. PBC are questionable people who ruin lives in the nicest way possible. It's what they went to college for.

Once again, I wanted to churn out a blog entry after each show so everything was fresh and booze soaked. Obviously, this didn't happen so here I am now on Tuesday struggling to remember exactly what happened and who I need to thank. Just know that all the shows were a blast. Toronto and London had huge turnouts, great promoters and great opening bands. The Artist Life are now good friends who opened up the London and Toronto shows, make sure to head over to their myspace and give a listen. I believe there is some talk to bring them to the US for an extended weekend. Equally important to note is the fact that the city of Toronto is exclusively inhabited only by attractive women. Women that I have no business talking to and fear not, I did not talk to one of them.

From London we headed to Guelph, I think, which was also a great show with a pretty big turnout. Thanks again to the promoter for a great time and a great place to crash afterwards. As fun as this show was however, it pales in comparison to the fact that I saw my first hobo without a nose. Things like that you can't, don't, and shouldn't forget. Hobos missing body parts > PBC shows.

Montreal had a pretty good turnout and probably would have looked packed full of people if the club didn't have such a weird set up. You entered the venue, then had to step into a Sarlacc Pit type of set up and then had to climb out of said Pit to get to the stage. This load in would have been particularly taxing on me if I actually had helped carry a piece of equipment. I was drunk on chicken burrito and well, probably drunk so I don't feel too bad. Once again, we had a great promoter who took care of us and the actual city made up for a so so turn out. The last time I went to Montreal the Expos were still a team and Darryl Strawberry was still on the Mets. Try and wrap your head around that one my eighteen year old readers.

After spending the night in a king sized bed with Goose and Emmett it was off to Vermont but first we had to persuade the US side of the border to let us back in. If the border police read that last sentence somehow beforehand, we probably wouldn't have had a chance but after a brief harassment, both bands were welcomed with opened arms. Well...we were welcomed. Well....we got back in. I guess the issue with the border was that we lacked a proper visa or permit in regards to our merchandise. As tour manager, I probably should have had this figured out but more often than not, I fail at the things I enjoy.

The show in Winooski, Vermont was especially wonderful because the venue had a Bouncing Souls performance playing on a HDTV as we entered. While the turnout didn't match the numbers of the first two shows, the energy and crowd participation probably exceeded any of the previous shows. More incredible and impressive however was my consumption of two foot long meatball subs in one day! Hooray! From there, the drive home seemed to last 23 hours and included a legendary exchange of words between Nate and an incompetent cashier at a rest stop of sorts. This took place while a haggard and tired Nate just wanted a cup of coffee in order to finish out his shift as bus driver. Just coming back from Canada, we still had some Canadian coins on us. Well, don't try and US Canadian coins in Vermont...

Cashier - "We don't accept Canadian coins here"
Nate - "Canadian coins 25 cents or less is considered legal tender in the United States"
Cashier - "But we don't accept Canadian coins here"
Nate - "Is this the United States?"

I don't know, maybe it's funnier if you were there but at the time, this was the greatest thing that ever happened. Ah, it's the simple things, kids. Really.

Ok, so, we're home now and I want back out already. Ten days or so and we go back out with The Gaslight Anthem and American Steel. Soon, I plan an entry solely dedicated to how fucking excited I am to meet American Steel. Until then, let me live with you for the week or so.

Oh! Click here or on the picture of those handsome dudes way up at the top to bring you to PBC pictures from most of the shows from last week and over the summer! New 90210 tonight, holler!

Wish You Were Here

2008-08-28T20:37:00.004-04:00

I smell like a cheeseburger, Goose wants a cheeseburger.

More to come. Soon.

But probably not until next week.

P.S.

2008-08-25T14:35:00.005-04:00

Last week our bus broke down after the NYC show. We still needed to get to the Cambridge show Sunday night. In order to do that, we had to rent a new van and leave our bus in New York City for the time being. New van didn't have any type of seating in the back so we had to sit/lay down on all the instruments for the brutal drive.

Turns out, PBC played their best show of the weekend. Anyway, here are some pictures from the uncomfortable drive and the show that followed said drive.

Enjoy?

Less PBC, More Trevor

2008-08-24T21:56:00.005-04:00

Like most middle aged women like myself, there comes a time when you realize your ass is too fat and you're never going to land a husband looking the way you do. Well, this happens every five years for me and it happened again tonight. My quick fix is to usually go for a jog around the block once or twice. At night. Always at night. They can't see your shame in the dark.

After somehow managing my bloated hooves into a pair of trainers and fishing out an old pair of mesh shorts that have gone unnoticed since 1996, I was ready to hit the streets. I remember once being told that if you want a really good cardio workout, you need to keep going at least 12 minutes or something insane. I'm telling you, that first minute I felt like a champion. Then I hit what us athletes call the wall...thirty seconds later. Sure, most marathoners, such as myself, will tell you the wall doesn't hit for hours. Well, fuck you, I smoked for ten years and drank beers for even longer. You don't know me.

So, there I was, lightening shooting up my back, acid being poured into my leg "muscles" and tears streaming down my chubby face. This was all three minutes in. I felt like one of those people that get stranded while trying to climb some insurmountable mountain. Yeah, well, except I could still see my house from where I was.

Fight or flee!? Well, I fought. Sort of. I decided to finish the first and last exercise attempt of 2008. I walked the rest of the way. No more running. I would have just bagged the whole fucking thing right there and gone home but i knew my parents were in the living room. I didn't want them to see me five minutes after I left, white as a ghost, sucking for air like an overweight fish out of water.

Somehow I managed to get into the shower without taking too much criticism for only being gone for ten minutes. Dizzy. I swear to god I was dizzy. Then I was nauseous. Decision time. Vomit in the tub or try to make it to the toilet. For the second time this night I ran. This time for the shitter. Once I made it there, I expelled my dinner and fell to the ground in pale, wet, smelly pile of almost 200 pounds.

And you know what? Last week at this time, I was at work and now I'm not. So, what I'm saying is this. I'd rather be passed out in front of my parents' toilet then ever work again.

I miss my apartment. I miss talking to girls.

But fuck it. I'm never exercising again.

Polar Bear Club shows coming up this week. Hello Canada, carbs and non light beer. Dead by 35. Please.

Day Two - Knitting Factory, NYC 8/16

2008-08-20T05:02:00.011-04:00

Call me what you must but I just don't like New York City. I actually break out in hives when I enter any of the boroughs. Everyone there is cooler than me, better looking than, has more money than me, and dresses better than me. This probably could be said for most cities including Utica and Buffalo but there's no need to be mean. Driving in the city brings stress as well but that's not usually a concern with Polar Bear Club because I'm not allowed to drive.(That's a story for another time but just know it involves a total meltdown at the wheel by yours truly.)

Even with all of my reservations this was still going to be worth the trip for a couple different reasons. The show at the Knitting Factory was going to be upstairs instead of downstairs. PBC has played the downstairs part of the venue before and while it's still a great room to play, it involves carrying equipment down numerous sets of stairs. Sure, I'm a roadie but that doesn't mean I like struggling with heavy things. (Insert a joke about my sex life here). The main room holds about 500 people and the show had been sold out for weeks now which meant a whole lot of people were going to see PBC which only helps with my recent retirement from steady employment. For me, the biggest draw of the NYC adventure was a chance to finally see The Gaslight Anthem, an enormously popular band that we're going to be doing a lot of dates with in the future.

Whether you think GA deserve their success or not, this band performs and writes songs that make an old dude such as myself almost comfortable with being an old dude. I'm not good with words so I really can't explain what I'm trying to convey here. What I do know is that themes such as regret, nostalgia for what once was, and opportunity lost paired with the need to forge ahead cater to my inner 25 year old. Gaslight played for over and hour and I swear to god, the lead singer had a smile on his face the whole time. If you don't like this band you probably like things or organizations such as the Yankees, the Republican party and the Dallas Cowboys. In other words, you're a hate monger.

Even before all of this though, Polar Bear Club played, I took some pictures and hang outs were had in the cool guy room. Oh, you don't know what a cool guy room is? Well, I do and I was lucky enough to get to hang out in one. A cool guy room is the room backstage where the bands and crew get to hang out. The most magical acts happen back there, I'm telling you. I can't really get into all the sordid details but I rest easier knowing that you aren't allowed back there. Take that you better looking, better dressed, more money having NYC residents.

Enjoy the pictures and please keep in mind that I'm not a photographer. I'm a drunk, a roadie, and magnificent lover.

http://picasaweb.google.com/trevorjames/NYC

(Footnote, nothing cool happens in the cool guy room except we get some cookies and bottled water. Oh, except on this night when both Jawbreaker and a Glen Danzig fronted Misfits reunited to perform exclusively for us.)

Day One No Radio Records Ithaca New York 8/15/08

2008-08-19T14:51:00.003-04:00

You see, before we actually left for shows, the plan was to write an entry here immediately after, every night. Then the shows actually happened. Quickly, I realized that posts immediately following any of the shows would consist of intoxicated and clumsy declarations such as-

"I LOVE MEATBALL SUBS."

"GOOSE'S JEAN SHORTS ARE TOO TIGHT OR MAYBE THEY'RE NOT TIGHT ENOUGH."

"IS A TEN YEAR AGE DIFFERENCE CREEPY OR ROMANTIC?"

"MUSIC IS FUN, KEYSTONE LIGHT IS MORE FUN!"

There would be more spelling mistakes but you get the idea. All kidding aside, it was a busy weekend and there just wasn't enough time each night to break out the computer after loading up for the night or before obligatory post show hang out. So for right now, I'm going to do three different posts over the next couple of days about each show in Ithaca, New York City (that's NYC for fans of brevity), and Cambridge.

Some of us left from Syracuse in the "new" PBC bus you see to your top right. This was actually the first time laying eyes on what will essentially become our home for the next couple of months. I fell in love instantly with the girl because She shares the same traits I prefer in a mate - white, used, and roomy enough to fit seven dudes inside. There's still a lot of work to be done on the interior (a loft needs to be built and a stereo of some sort needs to be installed) but the vehicle makes a beeping noise when it is in reverse and that makes up for any shortcomings. Extra added bonus is enough headroom to stand up while peeing in a Gatorade bottle.

Once in town we grabbed a bite and headed over to the venue which was a small, independent record/show space. Yo be honest, this was probably the first time in years I'd actually been in a record store. You see, I download my music. My sense of entitlement insists on it. The show itself had Polar Bear Club headlining and playing with our friends in Summer People. Two other bands were on the bill and honestly I can't remember their names. Whatever, watching opening bands is for people who don't enjoy sitting in a van getting torn up. Don't judge me, I was once like you. Point being, Summer People include members of Fire When Ready who have been friends with myself Nate and Emmet dating back to the Marathon years so it was nice to reconnect. The history between us doesn't mean I actually watched them either. Priorities, people.

This was the first Polar Bear Club show in about four months and acted as a welcome warm up before two really big shows with The Gaslight Anthem. It was important to work out all the kinks tonight because the following evening there would be five hundred or so people in attendance. Don't ask me what they opened their set up with, in fact, don't ask me any of the songs PBC played. I was drunk, ok? Who are you, my mother? What I can tell you is that four songs into the set, the police showed up and the band was immediately told to stop playing. Apparently, The Party Bears were too loud and a noise violation was handed out. There was no haggling with the cops or owner of the venue. Party Bear Club was instructed to shut everything down and everyone asked to leave immediately. No songs, fun, or refunds.

After packing up, our friend Steve invited us over to his house for a night of sophisticated conversation covering such topics as politics, literature and film. Instead we showed up with a rack of 30 Stones (cheap beer), I forced the other roadie Bobby to kiss a man, cops once again showed up but this time with a flood light, and we all crashed on a floor in a house that smelled like a wet hamster cage.

No pictures of the aforementioned party or man on man action but here's a couple from the actual show. Not a lot, four songs doesn't make for many photo ops.

Ithaca is gorges.

Fin

2008-08-11T02:49:00.002-04:00

Seven more work days and I'm out of this hell hole. Semi-retirement.

Polar Bear Club shows this upcoming weekend.

Someone's going to get pregnant.

Again.

Neglect!

2008-07-28T04:05:00.006-04:00

I'm kind of over this whole blogging thing. If it were an actual physical entity, Fast Music, Fast Times would be placed in a cardboard box, taped shut and stowed away forever in my (parent's) closet. Forgotten and unused, weB log would take up residence next to the karate uniform I had as a child, the skateboard I never rode, the sketch pad and drawing pencils I used once, and the electric guitar that gets touched twice every eight months. I start things that I don't finish. Ask any ex girlfriend.

Entries and creativity are bound to increase. Soon, Polar Bear Club starts playing shows. That's the whole point of this thing in the first place - show reviews, show pictures, and sordid tales of general high jinkery. Mix all of that in with Trevor's Tales of Self Hate and you got a website that insists on being bookmarked. The loathing will be on the rise too! Currently, I'm about fifteen pounds over weight. If you put your ear close enough to your computer monitor, you might just hear the waist band of my jeans crying out for help! How am I supposed to not eat cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner when it's just sitting there all frosted and sexy looking? TTYL, friends.

Cut My Life Into Pieces

2008-07-14T01:07:00.005-04:00

Once again, I don't feel like writing a god damn thing which borders on the ridiculous because I have three more hours of work and absolutely nothing to do. The mere thought of typing pains me and this is probably the work ethic that has led to the never ending rut I call my life. I haven't updated in awhile so I feel compelled to give you something, my dear reader. So, what follows is an idea that I found funny at some point over the weekend but quickly loses all steam and substance. (Side note, has anyone noticed I have no idea how and when to properly use a comma? I'm sure at least one out of the three of you reading has. This is me. A high school and college graduate who lacks basic skills. Life has failed me/vice versa)

Too many words. Let's just get straight to the shame.

So, this past Friday, I almost created a Match.com profile for myself. I make most of my decisions while intoxicated and this time was no different. However, for the first time since possibly 1994, I resisted the sweet, sweet whispers of my dark mistress Lady Booze. I didn't follow through but I must say I got pretty far into the registration process. I wish I could tell you that common sense reared its ugly head; that I sobered up and realized that paying thirty dollars a month for a dating service is both sad and the first indication of a serial killer. Nah, that's not what did it. It dawned upon me that living at home, at this stage in my life, is like having AIDS, and kids, the ladies do not like the AIDS.

Jesus. What a horribly insensitive and offensive thing to say. Ok, maybe, just maybe, my living situation isn't the same as being HIV positive. Let's get serious. It's living having The Herp. And I don't mean the kind of Herp where you just get a couple of blemishes on your lips and face, you know, the cold sore. I'm talking the rampant patches of seeping sores that cover The Special Place. Admittedly, your groin area looks like the aftermath of a terrible grease fire but there is an upside here. The benefit with this kind is that you don't have disclose right away that you're tainted meat, you can work up to that. However, eventually, you have to let the sore, er, secret out of the bag.

This is how my warped brain relates the STD with living with the 'rents. Stay with me here. I mean, If i ever was to actually meet someone off Match.com (or in real life) I'd eventually have to disclose that, "No, those aren't my roommates. Yes, those are my parents. No, they haven't fallen on hard times and I haven't graciously and unselfishly taken them in and offered refuge. Yes, THEY took ME in because I'm more or less a hobo that happens to own a car." The same same type of conversation exists if I harbor the simplex virus, "No, you probably shouldn't touch that. Yes, I'm aware it looks like the plague. No, it's never going away. Yes, I understand if you leave now."

Sure, unlike herpes, the move home isn't permanent (God, how many times have I said that before?) And most adults could probably handle a conversation or confrontation like the one noted above. Hell, there are probably female adults out there that wouldn't really care that I temporarily lived at home. The thing is, I'm not like most adults. If you knew me, you'd know that I have the emotional capacity of a boy raised in a bubble his entire life. I don't function well outside of the bubble. It's not my fault, I blame an ex girlfriend (Good morning, Sarah!)

Where does this leave me you ask? It leaves me on my parents' futon. With no air conditioning and no chance of a lasting relationship anytime soon. Fear not, my suffering is your entertainment. So it's been awhile since I've met anyone new and by awhile I mean years. Back then girls used to smell nice. Is that still the case? Thanks for the help, friends.

Fuck You, Pay Me

2008-07-08T01:33:00.006-04:00

Oh, hey, I didn't see you there. Thanks for stopping by. What's that? Oh, yeah, that's just a flyer over there for a Bouncing Souls show. Maybe you've heard of them? Yeah, me too. Pretty big band, no? Mayflower? No big deal, I just play bass for them and we're opening. Yeah, sounds pretty alright, I guess I'll show up.

Pfft. Fuck. Really though, I'm in this band called Mayflower and we're going to open for the Bouncing Souls. Do we deserve it? Nah, probably not. I mean, there are better bands out there who've been around longer and know how to write a catchier song. Honestly, we probably wouldn't be on the bill if I didn't know a dude who knows the dude putting on the show. But hey, punk rock and hardcore is all about who you know, right? Right.

Either way, I get to be in a band that opens up for my favorite band. That rarely happens to anyone and frankly, I deserve it. I mean, I've spent many years toiling away in shitty bands, playing shitty songs, playing shitty shows. Sure, I can't play guitar or bass to save my life but it wasn't my fault we sucked. It's never my fault, I'm Trevor.

I have an hour left of work so , just for fun, let's review some of the aforementioned shitty bands I've partook in during my DIY career.

Rebel Riot - I don't want to get into much detail here because this audio abortion deserves an entire blog entry all to itself. Lets just say it was an oi band fronted by an overweight, skinhead guerrilla. I was clearly an impressionable youth who would have signed up for anything judging by the fact that this was also the time I wore a spiked belt and large pants. Cut my life into pieces.

The Defilers - Well two of the dudes who were in Rebel Riot were in The Defilers so you know this band sucked too. Oh, you don't? Well, we fucking sucked. By this time, the way I chose to embarrass myself was by wearing black nail polish. Older Trevor would really, really hate younger Trevor.

Shock Nagasaki - For this one, we have a myspace linky for you to enjoy. I didn't belong in this band and in fact I think I was kicked out three or four times for skipping practice and shows. The Clash and the Sex Pistols huff dong equally and Shock Nagasaki often covered both. It was nice to not be the biggest cock in a band for once, however. (I almost bought a pair of creepers to fit in with the rest of the band, don't tell!)

Killed For Less - Hey! If you're into really shitty audio quality, click on the link to the left, post haste! In all seriousness, this is the band I'm most proud of and two of my best friends were in this band with me. Scott from Mayflower was down with this sickness as well. Unfortunately, I was down with the wearing a bandanna around my neck phase. It's a cold world.

Well, we got a little off track there but I think we'll both agree we had some fun today. Maybe I'll see you at that Bouncing Souls show. I hear Mayflower is playing. I'll be the dude on stage wearing something stupid. What trend can I hop on next? Let's find out together.

Ride The Snake

2008-07-07T02:36:00.003-04:00

**Edit** I started this entry over a week ago and never got around to posting it, it didn't start off very funny and never really went anywhere. I'm just going to keep what I had and add on to it. It never became funny**

Let's talk some more about me, shall we?

Slowly but surely, and over the last couple days, the reluctant move back home to the parents' home has begun. I'm not paying rent for July so obviously I need to be out of the apartment by, well, tonight actually. I was out gallivanting (boozing and whoring) this past weekend so a lot of the responsibility to move and clean was left up to Nate. Bad move on my part but I had committed to going out of town months before we decided on the move and I just couldn't break those plans, as much as I may have wanted to. I did what I could with the little time I had. On nights I have to work. my day doesn't allow for much other than sleeping. Today was a hectic one fueled by only two hours of sleep. Life goes on.

Packing all of your life's possessions into the back of a Honda Accord and only having to make one trip is both sad and liberating. Note, when I say liberating I mean emotionally devastating . So if we're going to judge one's success on possessions, well, I lose again. I have a large tv, a Xbox 360, and a wallet sucking/soul stealing car payment. The tv was a good life choice and probably the main reason why I'm being allowed to move back home. It's my admission ticket if you will.

7/7/08

Fuck it. I have nothing tonight. My creative juices are spent. This is what you get from me tonight, an excerpt from a conversation I had with Boogz over the internet machine. It basically encompasses everything I suffer through now that I live at home with my parents, er, roommates. Enjoy or be horrified, the choice is yours.

[00:49] xtremoneyx: I HAVE NOTHING TO BLOG ABOUT

[00:50] capn t burgs: no shit

[00:50] capn t burgs: you're bout to get unfavorited

[00:50] xtremoneyx: i deserve it

[00:50] xtremoneyx: i'll have something tonight

[00:51] xtremoneyx: it will suck

[00:51] xtremoneyx: maybe i'll write about the fact that i feel ashamed when i jerk it now

[00:51] xtremoneyx: b/c i'm next to my parents room

[00:51] xtremoneyx: in their home

[00:51] xtremoneyx: silently loving myself.

[00:52] xtremoneyx: whilst sobbing.

Happy? Now we booth feel dirty.

<3>

Fuck Summer.

2008-07-07T02:24:00.007-04:00

Seriously. Listen, I have a beer gut, the tits of a girl in 10th grade, arm tattoos I prefer to hide, and gams whiter than the Aryan race. I'm not going swimming, wearing shorts or parting with my hoodie. Therefore, I choose to sweat, complain and act miserable. That being said, this past weekend was pretty sweet. WANNA HEAR ABOUT IT?

It's funny. I guess you could say I have two different groups of friends. One group has been to a basement show and knows who Saves The Day are. They also usually tend to be a lot younger than me. The other group of friends calls a show a concert and only goes into a basement to do laundry. The latter consist of dudes I've known since high school and the only thing we really have in common at this point anymore is the fact we all went to Victor High many moons ago. You see, these guys have their shit together and they always have. They didn't take almost ten years to graduate college. They don't sleep on their parents' futon. And they probably don't regret every decision they've made in the last ten years. They do have their own homes, high paying jobs, girlfriends or wives and in some cases, children.

So there must be some other common interest or common similarity that breaks through all the differences and lifestyle choices, right? There has to be something other than high school, yes?

Beer.

We all like to get hammered. Even my friend who could buy and sell me at any point likes to booze it up. This past Saturday a bunch of us decided to get together to watch fireworks at a local nearby spot. Well, we certainly couldn't do that sober so a back pack full of beers was a must. We loaded up our pack mule and off we went head first into a park full of families and well meaning adults in search of the best place to watch the fireworks. Once we decided on a location in the park, the bag opened and the beers were popped. Troublemakers. As our beer consumption and curse words elevated, families began to pack up their lawn chairs, as well as children, in order to get the hell away from us.

I'm told the fireworks eventually ended and from what I can piece together, we ended up finishing off our drinks in a pitch black forest. Re-read that last part of that sentence and think about it, a father of two who has some sort of government job, a lawyer, a salesman were all boozing hard with some shitty dude in a forest. In the middle of nowhere. In complete darkness. And these are my adult friends. Not the punks or social misfits that complete my other half of friends. My chubby fingers pecking away at this keyboard just can't do this story enough justice. Secretly, I was hoping that we would all be arrested just to bring light to such an absurd story and situation. I changed my mind when I realized that the police blotter the next day would reveal that my home address is the same one now that it was when I was a senior in high school.

When I come home this morning after work and have to sneak past my parents' room (so I don't wake them up) I'll try and remind myself that summer/life isn't so bad as long as booze, night time, and old friends are involved.

I drink so you don't have to. God bless.

I'm In Maryland

2008-06-27T19:52:00.007-04:00

Like the title says, I'm in Maryland. Apparently, a couple of months ago I agreed to go to some sort of pop punk "fest" called Insubordination. Basically, it's two days of bands who play the same three chords over and over. All the songs are about ex girlfriends or girls in general and not in a cool late 90's Saves The Day way. For example, some nameless, faceless band sung a song called "Kate Left Me For An Emo Boy". Ground breaking stuff, kids. When Teddy asked me to go I'm pretty sure I was at work, it was 5am, and I was probably on the phone. I was tricked! To be fair though, there are some bands I did want to see mainly, Lemuria, Weston and Off With Their Heads.

Well, I missed Off With Their Heads because it took nine fucking hours to get to our destination from Oswego, New York. That's more than a shift of work, folks. I don't know why I travel, I certainly don't do it well. I'm like a delicate flower. Wait, no, I'm a pack of ground beef that needs to be refrigerated at all times or else I spoil, smell bad, and make others sick.

My friend Teddy agreed to drive and he has one of those Outback cars which means it's a wagon and has a lot of room in the back. I require a lot of room. To make the commute a little better, Teddy put down the seats and threw a futon mattress in there. That's me on the top left enjoying comfort in a car. You see, Teddy has known me a while and understands I need the finest of accommodations, I'm the talent of this operation. So, for the entire drive I was able to just lie down and enjoy the ride. Well, there wasn't anything to enjoy, really. The only highlight was the rest stop that was giving away hot dogs, baked goods, soda and orange drink for a suggested donation. The makeshift stand was operated by Boy Scouts and they still hate the gays and all, so I normally don't support such a thing, but Daddy was hungry and Teddy actually paid so it worked out well. The best tasting hot dog is the free hot dog, FYI.

I don't want to bog you down with a play by play of the rest of the night. You come here for the jokes, not the story. So, let's make this quick. After checking into the hotel, we went to get burritos. I ate my first burrito that was forged by a black man. It also happened to be the best burrito I've ever had. Pointing out that the man was black is probably racist but pointing out that it was delicious makes it less racist? I mean, it was just odd, usually it's a white hippie or a real life Mexican. Ok, stop, stop! Anyway, I'm hungry again.

Back to the venue and back to bands I really don't care about. I got drunk, almost smoked a cigarette and creepily ogled pretty girls that would never pay attention to a dude like me. To coincide with the girl theme of the night, I fell in love with a girl guitarist in one of the bands. Did I talk to her? No, of course not, that's crazy talk. As far as the general make up of the crowd, well, it was mostly fat dudes. And that's all fine and good. Be fat, I don't care. I've been fat at times, not a big deal. But fat dudes with beards. That's two strikes, you're almost out. HUGE deal. Interesting life choices. Moving on...

So now it's Saturday and I'm laying in bed at the Ramada. One more day of this. I want to go home now. The only thing keeping me together is the cable TV. Let's not even talk about the fact that I should be back home helping Nate clean and move out of our apartment. Yeah, we're supposed to be out by this weekend and I'm in Maryland. I'm a bad friend, bad person. I'll write about that some other time. Keith is cleaning up the hotel room, picking up all the beer cans. He's eye fucking me, I can feel it. This entry really deteriorated quickly. Sorry, children.

Aside

2008-06-23T02:20:00.006-04:00

From age fifteen until now, I've had a total of about 25 different jobs. That's pretty remarkable and probably a sign of some sort of mental illness. I've worked in four different pizza joints, two different supermarkets, some job where I wore a tool belt and wielded a hammer, a gas station and a laundry list of others.

One of the first jobs was at Burger King and thankfully this was the only time I ever dabbled in the fast food market. The job fucking sucked. Sixteen year old Trevor must have been grossly incompetent because I wasn't allowed to prepare any of the food and I was forbidden to take any of the orders. I would receive the food from the high school drop out in the back of the kitchen and hand it to the customer. That was it. Too much for me, two weeks and I was out.

Anyway, what got me thinking about this was a recent trip to the Wendy's near my parents' house in Victor. Listen, this is going to make me sound creepy but I couldn't help but notice that the employees were attractive looking. Not in a "Oh, man, If I was fifteen years younger way", just in a "Weird, these aren't the mutants I worked with back in the day" way. Back in the 90's, pretty people weren't allowed to work.

I'm not above anyone. I was one of the mutants too. But back then, it was bad, a who's who of social leprosy. Let's see, we had the Hot Dog Girl (every school had the girl that went to the ER due to a misplaced hot dog, ours was named Wendy.) Kevin, the grill dude who was so covered in psoriasis, he looked like he had been mauled by a pack of angry tigers. Let's not forget Allen, who clearly washed his face with a cheeseburger before he went to bed each and every night. Gary was quite the character, what he lacked in teeth he made up for with the size of his hump. Ah! I almost forgot about Steve who weighed in at 400 pounds and had the nicest pair of breasts I've ever seen on a man. To be a teenager again.

So in 2008, where do the castoffs find gainful employment? The goths, the cutters, the the teenage mothers! Show yourselves! Tell me how you afford your gamer fuel and body mods!

Oh, so why was I one of the mutants you ask? What was my super power? Can't say for sure but maybe I was "The Dude Who Will End Up Living With His Parents In The Year 2008".

More on that later.

Chinese Democracy

2008-06-19T09:53:00.005-04:00

my friend sent me a link to the new guns and roses album, chinese democracy and suggested i live blog my reaction to it. instead, i just had an IM conversation with him about it and decided i'd just post it here, mainly for my own amusement. sidenote, appetite for destruction and gnr lies defined my childhood. chinese democracy will not define my adulthood.

(9:31:37 AM) xtremoneyx: HERE IT COMES
(9:31:49 AM) xtremoneyx: WTF IS THIS SHIT
(9:31:52 AM) xtremoneyx: YOU LIED TO ME
(9:31:54 AM) ur kirk: yes! harder! faster! better! stronger!?
(9:32:06 AM) xtremoneyx: WHY!?
(9:32:09 AM) xtremoneyx: WAIT
(9:32:12 AM) ur kirk: what is it!?
(9:32:14 AM) xtremoneyx: YES!
(9:32:19 AM) xtremoneyx: IT STARTED OUT WITH A GIRL
(9:32:24 AM) xtremoneyx: HERE'S AXL
(9:32:43 AM) xtremoneyx: each song is at least five minutes!
(9:32:45 AM) xtremoneyx: wtf!
(9:33:05 AM) ur kirk: yes! prog's making a comeback, brotha!
(9:33:36 AM) xtremoneyx: the chorus is sung by some broad!
(9:33:43 AM) xtremoneyx: his voice is shot on the high notes!
(9:34:07 AM) ur kirk: DON'T YOU SAY THATY
(9:34:23 AM) ur kirk: AXL'S STILL GOT IT
(9:35:02 AM) xtremoneyx: IS THIS GOD LIVES UNDERWATER?!
(9:35:17 AM) xtremoneyx: I'M ON TO SONG TWO
(9:35:56 AM) xtremoneyx: THIS ENTIRE CONVO WILL BE POSTED ON MY BLOG! REACT!
(9:36:11 AM) xtremoneyx: SECOND SONG STARTS OFF GENTLE
(9:36:19 AM) xtremoneyx: HERE IT COMES
(9:36:28 AM) xtremoneyx: CAN YOU FEEL THE NU METAL RIFFAGE
(9:36:34 AM) xtremoneyx: WE'RE ALL SLAVES
(9:36:37 AM) xtremoneyx: IN THE DOPE SHOW
(9:36:43 AM) xtremoneyx: SCREAM, AXL, SCREAM
(9:36:52 AM) ur kirk: yes!
(9:36:53 AM) ur kirk: more!
(9:37:01 AM) ur kirk: give in to your anger!
(9:37:32 AM) xtremoneyx: I BELIEVE THIS SONG IS ABOUT HIS NUMEROUS PLASTIC SURGERIES
(9:37:38 AM) xtremoneyx: OR BEING A MULTI MILLIONAIRE
(9:37:42 AM) xtremoneyx: ONE OF THE TWO
(9:37:45 AM) ur kirk: he's never had surgery!
(9:38:20 AM) xtremoneyx: WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE HOOKS
(9:38:31 AM) xtremoneyx: SLASH'S SNAKE PIT > THIS
(9:38:47 AM) ur kirk: Slash's Snake Pit > Everything, though!
(9:39:02 AM) xtremoneyx: THIS CHORUS BORES ME AND THERE'S THREE MINUTES LEFT
(9:39:03 AM) xtremoneyx: NEXT
(9:39:11 AM) xtremoneyx: ACOUSTIC BEGINING
(9:39:22 AM) ur kirk: my god!
(9:39:24 AM) xtremoneyx: CHANNEL "PATIENCE" AXL
(9:39:27 AM) xtremoneyx: CHANNEL IT
(9:39:30 AM) xtremoneyx: WAIT
(9:39:33 AM) ur kirk: stop skipping parts of songs!
(9:39:37 AM) xtremoneyx: LITTLE MORE TECHNO
(9:39:50 AM) xtremoneyx: HE SINGS LIKE HE'S BEING CHOKED!
(9:39:58 AM) xtremoneyx: BY THE YEAR 2000
(9:40:07 AM) ur kirk: yes! hypnotoad!
(9:40:35 AM) xtremoneyx: MAKE SENSE! THIS IS GOING ON MY BLOG
(9:40:51 AM) xtremoneyx: YES! MORE BUCK CHERRY ESQUE RIFFS
(9:41:02 AM) xtremoneyx: THE CHERRY > THIS
(9:41:33 AM) ur kirk: who is this!?
(9:41:57 AM) xtremoneyx: ON TO SONG 4
(9:42:05 AM) xtremoneyx: IT'S CALLED MADAGASCAR
(9:42:16 AM) xtremoneyx: IT STARTS OFF WITH SOME SORT OF PIANO OR ORGAN
(9:42:27 AM) xtremoneyx: IT REMINDS ME OF THE MIDDLE AGES
(9:42:42 AM) xtremoneyx: IT LACKS TESTICLES
(9:42:51 AM) xtremoneyx: NEXT
(9:43:01 AM) xtremoneyx: FINALLY A SONG UNDER 4 MINUTES
(9:43:25 AM) xtremoneyx: WHERE IS THE SONG FROM "END OF DAYS"
(9:43:26 AM) xtremoneyx: !?
(9:43:43 AM) ur kirk: tell me how hard buckethead is shredding right now!
(9:44:06 AM) xtremoneyx: THIS SONG KIND OF RIPS! IT'S GOT DUMB TECHNO SHIT RUNNING THROUGH IT THOUGH
(9:44:15 AM) xtremoneyx: JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER SONG!
(9:44:37 AM) ur kirk: half true!
(9:44:51 AM) ur kirk: spaghetti incident!?\
(9:45:02 AM) xtremoneyx: I'M BORED
(9:45:03 AM) xtremoneyx: NEXT SONG
(9:45:11 AM) xtremoneyx: SIX MINUTES?!
(9:45:19 AM) xtremoneyx: OH, HE'S CROONING
(9:45:23 AM) xtremoneyx: COULD BE A BALLAD!
(9:45:39 AM) xtremoneyx: SING TO MY COCKLES, AXL
(9:46:08 AM) xtremoneyx: HERE WE GO
(9:46:11 AM) ur kirk: yes! i just shat my boner!
(9:46:48 AM) xtremoneyx: DO YOU THINK HE WORE HIS MEAN MACHINE JERSEY THROUGHOUT THE 13 YEAR RECODING PROCESS?!
(9:46:59 AM) xtremoneyx: FUCK, THIS SONGS SUCKS TOO.
(9:47:01 AM) xtremoneyx: NEXT
(9:47:21 AM) xtremoneyx: IT HAS A SPANISH FLAIR
(9:47:34 AM) xtremoneyx: YOU KNOW, JUST LIKE THE APPETITE RECORD
(9:47:38 AM) xtremoneyx: EXCEPT THAT HAD NONE
(9:47:53 AM) xtremoneyx: THIS SOUNDS LIKE SADE'
(9:48:21 AM) xtremoneyx: IS THIS A LOVE FUCKING SONG?!
(9:48:30 AM) ur kirk: I'm inside Sade right now, btw!
(9:48:36 AM) xtremoneyx: MY GOD! IT'S ABOUT HIS CAT!
(9:48:38 AM) xtremoneyx: NERMAL!
(9:48:39 AM) xtremoneyx: NEXT!
(9:48:47 AM) xtremoneyx: THIS SONG IS CALLED THE BLUES
(9:48:49 AM) xtremoneyx: PIANO INTRO
(9:49:02 AM) xtremoneyx: MIKE AND THE MECHANICS-ESQUE
(9:49:22 AM) ur kirk: stop knowing what mike & the mechanics sound like!
(9:49:27 AM) xtremoneyx: HOLY JESUS CHRIST
(9:49:43 AM) xtremoneyx: I DON'T KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN WHAT HE JUST SOUNDED LIKE
(9:49:47 AM) xtremoneyx: KIND OF LIKE A PUPPY
(9:49:50 AM) xtremoneyx: DOES THAT MAKE SENSE?!
(9:50:01 AM) ur kirk: not at all!
(9:50:36 AM) xtremoneyx: DOES AXL STILL HATE GAYS?!
(9:51:40 AM) xtremoneyx: NEXT
(9:51:41 AM) xtremoneyx: LAST SONG
(9:52:09 AM) xtremoneyx: I THINK I'D RATHER WATCH KANGAROO JACK AGAIN THAN LISTEN TO THIS BATCH OF AUDIO AIDS
(9:52:46 AM) xtremoneyx: A SEVEN MINUTE SHIT OPUS
(9:52:47 AM) xtremoneyx: YES!!
(9:52:56 AM) ur kirk: yes what!?
(9:53:06 AM) ur kirk: and kangaroo jack is underrated!
(9:55:18 AM) xtremoneyx: THAT'S IT.
(9:55:22 AM) xtremoneyx: ENOUGH IS ENOUGH
(9:55:34 AM) xtremoneyx: I'D RATHER FUCK YOU WITH MY MOM'S DICK THAN LISTEN TO THIS AGAIN
(9:55:36 AM) xtremoneyx: I QUIT