Booze & Burritos

Lately, I’ve been talking to quite a few friends that don’t really know what it is they’re supposed to be doing right now. Some are more sure than others. I’ll spend a little bit of time talking about me, and we’ll get back to the theme I’m trying to cover.

Sometimes when you get older you don’t get to do things the way that you used to do them. The last two Thanksgivings have been like that for me. I haven’t been able to go back home. A Thanksgiving without your grandparents or family is just… different. Especially when you’re a single guy who lives on his own. Last year was amazing. I’ll remember it forever. I just had another great one with some incredible people.

Anyway, planning for this weekend really started a little while back. I started talking to people to see what they were doing because I couldn’t afford the international flight I should have bought. Some people wanted to go camping, but flights back to Colorado were crazy expensive, and camping in late November is generally really, really cold. That’s when I started pitching a Brosgiving or a Pittsgiving, if you will. All credit to my friend Koopa for that one. I don’t know how I missed that. It’s super obvious

I asked a few people, and a few people got asked on my behalf. It turns out most people had plans for Thanksgiving to be with their families, or they couldn’t get away, or they had to work. I was pretty much resigned to going to my coworkers Thanksgiving which I wasn’t super excited about doing. It was going to involve a lot of dealing with children. I don’t mind kids at all, and his kids are actually pretty rad. They really like me so that makes me like them more. It was just more than I wanted to deal with.

I was more worried about talking to people I don’t really know about some fairly political things. I didn’t want to do that. If I’m going to have uncomfortable, preferably open and honest discussions, I want them to be with a person that I can hug at the end of it and know everything is going to be all right. It’s hard to do that with strangers.

After a few people let me know they wouldn’t be able to make it out here, but also let me know I could come to where they live I got a text from a certain baby turtle who told me he had bought flights. I was so excited, but also a little terrified, because this was the first Thanksgiving that I’ve ever hosted without someone present that hadn’t already headed up hosting a Thanksgiving. I guess that’s another step in growing up.

Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t the first Thanksgiving that I’ve hosted at my place. I hosted one last year, but a really wonderful woman did most of the work. Another one of my friends who had just visited a few cities on the East coast was also around, but he was pretty sick. We ended up watching the entire Mummy series on cable with commercials. It was actually very memorable. We watched my neighbors get into a huge fight. It was wild. We finished the night getting Thanksgiving jello shots at a bar near my place.

This was just the first Thanksgiving I had to be really on point with. I had to host this thing, and I didn’t want to let anyone down.

A few days before I started getting ready for it I found out another friend of mine was also coming. That wasn’t a problem, because most Thanksgiving recipes are impossible to buy ingredients for based on a two person spread. I was also really excited. He’s one of my favorite people. Three’s company, ya know?

We made a pretty great meal. We had all the staples. We also had cookies, goldfish crackers, Reese’s Klondike Bars, and Busch Lights. For three guys who’d never been in charge of a Thanksgiving before I think we did a pretty good job.

We stayed up late, and we made side bets on various things. We talked about what we were thankful for, we talked about our families, and we talked about our friends. One of us put on “The Mummy” and immediately took a nap (sorry about that guys).

Yeah, we did a few things outside of my apartment too, We went to the casino, we went to dinner, and we went to Mt. Washington to get a good view of the city. We went to Jack’s, and we checked out the Tiki Lounge. We bought scratch tickets, and won way less than we spent. I loved most of those things. I still hate the casino, but I’ll always love scratch tickets.

Those things will never be the things I remember from this weekend. I’m going to remember the little things. I’m going to remember cooking breakfast together and sharing stuff on the internet that we like while we wait for things to finish. I’m going to remember walking down to the river and having a long and needed heart to heart. I’m going to remember laying around hating ourselves and watching football all day because we were a little too aggressive the day before. I’m going to remember everyone getting excited because someone just put on a song that lit the room up. I’m going to remember being recorded the first time I rapped original lyrics to a beat I’d never heard before.

Those things are all important. I’m happy I got to experience them, but they aren’t really what I’m thankful for. I’m thankful that I have great friends that do cool things. I’m thankful that I have an incredible brother with an amazing wife that I can’t wait to watch build a life together. I’m thankful that my parents are good people that I think I could be friends with if they weren’t my parents. I’m thankful that I have friends that feel like they can reach out and we can talk about real things.

We might not all know what exactly it is our future is going to be, but I sure would like to figure it out together.

I’ve got a few tattoos. One is great, some are decent, and some aren’t very good. I got my first one a decade ago. It’s scarred up, has some spots missing pigment, and it really needs to be touched up. My parents keep telling me I’m going to regret them someday. Maybe I will, but maybe I won’t. I don’t know yet. They’re all just snapshots of where I was in my life when I got them. Y’all have facebook pictures and/or photo albums. I’ve never really been one for taking pictures, but I’ve got these on me for life.

I can catch a glimpse of my right shoulder blade and remember how I spent a lot of time until about my junior year of college. I remember pulling myself up rocks, fighting gravity, failing constantly, and the elation of finally succeeding. I also remember that winter day I got hurt and I sat on the ground for 40 minutes by myself just feeling cold, dejected, and miserable. I can remember the music I was listening to when I was in my teens. The same music that I don’t really listen to anymore because I grew out of it. But I remember the feelings I had when I did.

Every now and then I’ll see my left shoulder blade in the mirror and remember the summer one of my friends died and how everyone came together to take care of each other. That wasn’t fun. I’d had family members die, but they were all old. Or at least they were all old to me. That was the first real unexpected death I experienced. I was eating lunch at work when I found out about it. I was a little numb after the phone call, and I thought I was fine. I broke down tearing carpet out of a basement I was remodeling that afternoon. I learned a lot of things I didn’t want to learn yet that summer.

I can look at my chest and think about all the nights my friends and I spent listening to albums from a band we’ve listened to since we were in junior high. I can remember all the nights we spent watching them live, arm in arm, just shouting lyrics along with everyone else in the venue, having the best time, and me crying more often than I’d like to admit. I can remember spending way too much time talking about those songs, album liner notes, and the band members’ various side projects. I have quite a few friends with various versions of that tattoo. I don’t talk to them all anymore, but we’re always going to have that.

I can look at my ribs and think about my family. I’ve got my family crest there. It’s the image on a plate that my Grandma keeps in her China closet. As far as I know it’s never been used, but I saw it every single holiday when I was growing up. After my dad learned about my first tattoo he told me that was the only tattoo he would ever consider getting. I wanted to get it from that moment on. I don’t even care if it’s actually my historical family crest. As far as I’m concerned it is to me. I’ll always remember seeing it through the glass on that cabinet door in the dining room, and I will definitely remember the seven hours I had to spend listening to Tool while getting a needle stuck in and out of my body while being insanely hungover because I made a terrible decision to drink the day before. In my defense, I had just turned 21 and it was the first brewfest I could go to.

I forget that I have them all the time. The tattoos that I have are just a part of me now. They’re like moles or freckles at this point. That’s not quite right. You probably have at least one scar with a story behind it, right? You probably don’t think about them every day. These tattoos are just the scars I chose to have.

They’re all covered up by a t-shirt so most people don’t even know I have them. I haven’t gotten a new one in five years, but I’ve thought about getting a few. I don’t know if I’ll ever pull the trigger on getting another one. I don’t know if that’s just because I don’t feel as strongly about things as I did when I was younger, if maybe I’m just not quite as impulsive as I once was, or if I’m just running out of under t-shirt tattoo space that I want to fill with ink.

If you get one, you might regret it at some point, but if you make a reasonable decision based on the place you’re at in life and just go for it you will probably be fine. I’m only 28 though, so maybe I’m just very wrong. So far I don’t regret anything.

“I’m not going to lie. I’m a little drunk right now. That’s a lie. I’m very drunk right now. I’ve been watching the election, and just, fuck. This is depressing.

I don’t even know what to say right now. I’m disappointed in everyone. We as Americans elected a terrible person.”

• Me, last night

I tried to write about how I felt about the election last night, and that’s as far as I got. It was probably a combination of multiple things. My intoxication level, notwithstanding, I had a lot of trouble with it. I was kind of overwhelmed. I was angry. I was sad. I was disappointed. The thing that really hit me though was that by the end of the night I was just numb.

I’m so tired. I don’t want to worry about down ballot elections and supreme court nominations. I don’t want to watch people yell at each other on TV without actually talking about anything. I don’t want to read news articles summarizing things I later learn aren’t even true. I’m just so fucking tired.

I don’t align myself to any particular political party. I work in a very right wing industry, but I’m socially very liberal. I found myself in a difficult place this election. I was stuck between a candidate I don’t trust, and a candidate who I think is genuinely not a good person. I know a lot of people feel the same way.

I have this idea of America in my head. It’s a beautiful place where people can come and find a better life. It’s a place where people help and support each other while working for a greater good. It’s a place where it’s okay to speak out against wrongs you see against your community. It’s a place where you can be a better version of yourself. It’s a place where everyone is supposed to be equal, and even though we aren’t, we’re working towards that. It’s an idealized version of America that I know doesn’t actually exist, but one that I hope someday will.

Last night shook me. It shook me to my core. In my heart of hearts I believed that most people generally had the same idea of America as I do. I was very wrong. We elected a misogynist, openly racist man that hates the freedom of the press to be the next president of the United States of America. I don’t know how this happened. I’m still trying to process it.

People can politically align themselves any way that they want. That’s their business. I don’t care. Do what you want. Politics are intricate and difficult to understand. Honestly, I don’t understand a lot of politics. There are a lot of things I don’t have the time or the energy to learn about. It’s just a lot. That’s not an admission of guilt, that’s an admission of being a person.

There is one thing I know for sure. I’m deeply disappointed in America. I’m deeply disappointed in all of us. Let’s all try and be better.

Soon it will be a year since my cousin died. He unexpectedly passed away on October 3^rd, 2015. He was only a few days away from his 30th birthday. I was crushed. I have a few things I want to say about him. He was a great person with a dream. He wanted to make art, and he went all in for it. It was fucking beautiful.

Before I met my relatives that lived in Walla Walla, I remember having a conversation with my mom. I was very young so I’ll paraphrase what I think happened. My mom told me that my aunt, uncle, and cousins were coming into town from Washington for some holiday. I didn’t know what or where Washington was yet, so I looked at her and asked something along the lines of “do they speak English?” My mom looked at me and laughed.  She went on to inform me that yes, they did, and that Washington was part of the United States. My geography skills were not solid as a child.

Over the next decade, every time I had the opportunity to see David he was a huge influence on me. He was my older cousin that was the cool kid that I wanted to be. David liked skateboarding, so I liked skateboarding. David was into pop-punk, so I was into pop-punk. He knew about all these cool things I had never heard of. David accidentally left a t shirt at my parents’ house during one of his visits. It was an Ataris t shirt from the End is Forever tour. He had introduced me to the Ataris before, and I had already fallen in love with them.  I told him he’d left it, and he told me to keep it. I wore it for at least 6 years. I wore it until it didn’t really fit anymore. I wore it until there were multiple holes in it. It was my favorite shirt for a long time. Without his influence early in my life I wouldn’t have had the context to make some of the longest lasting friendships I’ve had in my life. I’m very grateful for that.

Life works in a weird way. People go to college, start living their own lives, and you kind of lose touch. You get wrapped up in your day to day, and sometimes that’s all you deal with. Luckily, I got the opportunity to get to know David as an adult. I didn’t get to do if for long enough though. He was a beautiful person. He seemed like he cared about everyone. I’m trying my best to care about everyone I know in a similar way. I traveled a long way, and dealt with a lot of things to get to his memorial service. Talking to his friends, his girlfriend, and the family that we shared was heartbreaking. It was clear that David had a passion for life that rubbed off on a lot of people. He was living his life to a level that most people would be envious of.

From what I could tell, David loved three things in particular: art, the people in his life, and Bud Light Limes. He was the kind of guy who spent twelve (this is a guess, I’m not sure how many Christmas Eve’s it was) straight Christmas Eve’s delivering Christmas cards to everyone he knew in his hometown with a bit of snow he and his friends picked up from behind the ice rink. He was also the kind of guy who did that but didn’t bring it up. I didn’t even know he did it until his friend Pete talked about it at the memorial service. That is a nicer thing than I think I’ve ever done for anyone.

David had one of the weirdest jobs of anyone I’ve ever met. Dave made books, but he didn’t make them the way people make books now. He made books like people made them 300 years ago. All of the type was cast by hand with lead, all of the pages were hand set, each page was put into the press individually, and every single binding was hand sewn. The result was a beautiful work of art. He was in love with the process.

One of my favorite weekends in my life was with David. My friend Mike and I had both recently gotten out of relationships and needed some time away, so I suggested that we go visit my cousin in San Francisco. We flew in and took a pretty long walk to the printing shop Dave was working. He gave us a tour of the business and you could see a spark in his eye. He loved what he did. Later in the weekend he showed us the press in his garage and the type casting equipment he had acquired. He later turned all that equipment into his own printing business. They made some really cool things. I own a print they made. It’s hanging on my wall, and it reminds me of him every day.

San Francisco is one of my favorite cities I’ve ever been to. Now, I’m not sure if I loved the city, or if David was just a really good host. My favorite part of the weekend was seeing the Painted Lady houses from Full House, then buying 40s at the corner store and walking up what seemed like a mountain in a local park. It was raining and I wasn’t dressed for it. I didn’t care. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been happier than I was in that moment. Sitting at the base of a tree, looking out over the city lights, and talking about life with two great people was one of the best things I’ve done in my life. I’m glad I got to live that moment.

I also got to meet David’s girlfriend when I went to San Francisco. She’s a rad girl, and I love her a lot. I only got to spend a little bit of time with her then, and I didn’t see her again until Walla Walla. She’s the best, and I got to see her again at my brother’s wedding. I don’t know how she feels about me, but as far as I’m concerned that girl is family.

A little while after David past, I sent an abridged version of this to his mom and dad. They had some things to add. David was the kid in high school who had a dozen people over every day after school.  He was a natural leader. That showed in his work. He started a company in a mostly dead art-form and he put out a bunch of really cool things. I’d like to think that if he’d had the time he would have dominated the art form.

“Creativity is what we make. Some folk’s creativity comes out of their ability to make music, paint cars, build engines, make lifelong friendships, lead a climbing exposition, or create teams to accomplish things.”
– Bob Johnston (David’s Father)

I guess what I’m trying to say is that David was an incredible person. He lived with passion. I’m glad I got the chance to know him. He made me want to create more. I don’t really know how to do that so I wrote this because I don’t really have a talent creating things outside of words in a stupid Microsoft document. I think I’m going to finish this with a statement directed to the one and only David Johnston.

David, you are a beautiful person. The passion you lived your life with, and the drive you had to pursue your goals was incredible. You were the kind of person that made me consult a thesaurus because the only adjective to describe you that I could think of was beautiful. I’m glad I got to know you, but I’m sad I didn’t know you better. I love you, man. You were so willing to accept and include my friend that moved to San Francisco not knowing a single person who lived there. You didn’t need to do that, but you did it anyway. You made the hell out of some books. You were a great cousin, an even better friend, and I’m sorry we weren’t closer. You touched a lot of lives, and I will never forget you. I’ll never drink or see another Bud light Lime without thinking of you. I’ma make the hell out of some art in your memory, and then keep making it because I think that’s what you would have wanted. I miss you bro.

 

I’ve been sitting in this drawer for months. I wish he wouldn’t eat donuts every day. He can’t even fit me over his sweaty man tits. If he can’t wear me out and about, how is he going to show the world how much he loved Def Leppard back in ‘88? Hysteria was huge. People still care about that album, right?

This guy got me drug out of the merch pile in Little Rock, Arkansas back on February 8th of 1988. He was sixteen years old. I’ve been there for most of the most important days of his life. The first time he fondled a boob: check. The first time he got drunk: check. He was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt the first time he got high though. I’ll never forgive him for that. I was supposed to be there, but I didn’t make it into the laundry the week before.

I was there over the next few years. I was there for college, and for the early part of his career. I haven’t been around as much since. Sure I’m a little beat up now. I’ve got a few holes, and I’m thinner than I used to be. That doesn’t make me less of a shirt, does it?

I’m still the shirt I was when he bought me. At least I still feel like I am. I’m a little weathered now. I definitely show my age, but I’m still the same shirt. I don’t know how we’ve spent this much time together, and he’s still just cast me aside. It isn’t fair. You give your whole life to one person, and then one day you just feel abandoned. You’re cast aside for a newer, brighter shirt. A shirt that hasn’t been dulled by the sun. A shirt that doesn’t have holes worn into it from a belt. A shirt that doesn’t understand that the world is going to chew it up and spit it out.

I don’t know why he won’t get rid of me. I don’t know if it’s the memories we made, or if he’s just too lazy to drive to Goodwill. I don’t want to sit around and wait for it to be my turn to be worn again. I don’t have that much time left before I’m worn out, until I’m too old to be relevant anymore. I’m just a shirt trying to make the most of the time it’s got left. I just want someone to give me a chance.

This is a thing about moving to Pittsburgh. I’ve tried to write this three times, but I never quite got to where I wanted to. I think the problem I’ve had is that I don’t actually want this to be only about moving to Pittsburgh. I want to talk about my family, my old apartment, and a couple of other things .I never thought I would move out of Fort Collins, but here I am three years later. I think the best place to start is the first time I moved out of my parents place.

I was twenty years old. My brother was about to go live in the dorms at Colorado State. I had been attending CSU for about two years at that point, and I didn’t want him to beat me at moving out. I found a place with a couple of friends, and we moved in. It was shitty, but it was ours. 730 Tyler Street. We had a lot of fun there.

Right before we moved in I remember being at the 7-11 on Prospect and Lemay with my Dad. It was an emotional moment. We fight a little bit, because we are very much the same person, and we always have been. I don’t remember exactly what we were arguing about, but I’m sure it was because I was being a cocky 20 year old.

My dad and I got out of the car. I’ll never forget what happened next. He looked at me and said something along the lines of “I’m sorry. You moving out has been harder for me than I thought it would be.” That was the first time I remember seeing my dad cry. I talked to my mom about this today, and she was apparently unaware that this had happened. Sorry to blow your cover, dad. It was a moment I didn’t appreciate until a few years later.

I lived at a number of places while I was in Fort Collins. My favorite was definitely the apartment I shared with my brother while he was in grad school. That’s also the last apartment I lived in during my stay in Fort Collins.. My parent’s were nice enough to help me move out of it. I was in no way prepared to do it, so it was probably a lot more work than they were expecting.

Once we got everything packed, I took a minute to go see if “we cleared everything out.” Really I just wanted to go inside and have a minute to say goodbye to my favorite place I’d ever lived. I mostly just walked around and cried. It was a real end of an era kind of thing.

I spent my last night as a Fort Collins resident in my childhood bedroom. It was a long night. The next morning I had to say goodbye to my parents. That wasn’t that hard, I could at least pretend to be okay. Then I had to say goodbye to their dog.  Kneeling down and saying goodbye to little Riley was fucking rough. I knew there was no way I could explain to him what was happening. That was heartbreaking. I know it’s silly because he’s a dog, but I did a really got job of keeping it together until I had to say goodbye to him. He still does a really good job of excitedly attacking me whenever he sees me, so I don’t think he has any hard feelings.

I only drove a little way down the road before I pulled over. I had a wall of emotions to deal with before I got on the highway. I pulled a U Haul for 23 hours over the next two days. I didn’t know anyone in Pittsburgh before I moved there, so I had to call a moving company to get some help unloading all my things. The night before I got there I pulled off and checked into a motel, because I realized that even if I made it into my place, I would have to sleep on the floor. My mattress was packed all the way in the back of my Uhaul, and there was no way I was getting it out alone. That was my first night in Pennsylvania. I slept in some shitty ass motel just across the Ohio border.

I’ve lived here for three years now, and I feel a lot of ways about it.

I love the city of Pittsburgh. I love it more than I love living here. If that’s makes any sense. This city is super fun and there are always things to do. I’ve done a terrible job of making friends, but I also haven’t been super out going. Pittsburgh and I have spent some rough times together. One of the worst weekends of my recent life was here. If you know me well enough to read this, then you probably know what I’m talking about. That was rough. It was the second time I’ve told my brother that someone we cared about passed away.

Luckily, I’m just a short walk from a riverside view of what has become one of my favorite skylines in the country. I’ve got a little spot I like to go to and look over the city I live in now. It’s really just a sidewalk, but it’s my current favorite place. It’s beautiful. You can see all of downtown and all of the lights. It might not be the safest place to be alone at night, but it’s probably my favorite place to be.

My friends might not be here, but I am. My family might not be here, but I am. I’m going to keep trying to see what this city has to offer. Before I leave this place I’m going to let it chew me up and spit me out. I’m going to smoke this city to the filter. Pittsburgh is dope, and I’m going all in.

Hey, Steel City, let’s get weird. I’m going to make you love me as much as I love you.

My Four Most Memorable Concerts in Chronological Order (I’m going to cheat for a variety of reasons)

1 & 2) Warped Tour- Invesco Field – 2003

I was 15 years old, and it was my first time I’d ever been to a concert without my parents. I went with my friend Josh. I don’t really remember a ton about it, but there are two things that really stand out from that day. The first was seeing a band whose name I don’t even remember, but they were the best live band I’ve ever seen. The lead singer climbed up the speakers, monkey barred his way out over the stage, and he continued singing with the mic in his free hand over the center of the stage. Then he fell. He hit the stage, and his band played while he laid there for what I remember being like 6 minutes. Then he got up and finished the show. At the time it was the most punk rock thing I’d ever seen, and I was 100% drawn in. Looking back, I just assume he was under the influence of some performance enhancing drugs. That fall was at least 25 feet. I rock climbed during college and took a number of sideways 15 foot falls onto pads and that shit hurts. 25 Feet is near the death ceiling.

The second memory from that concert has been burned into my memory forever. My favorite band when I was 15 was The Ataris, because my cousin David introduced me to them. They played The Warped Tour that year. I was so excited to see them for the first time. We couldn’t get too close to the stage because the set Josh and I saw earlier was slightly too close to the start of The Ataris set. We ended up standing just past the end of the pit. The set was great. I loved it. The part of the set that I will always remember is the moment that a crowd surfing girl came over me. I reached up to support her, and it just so happened that my right hand ended up trapped on her right breast. She leaned over her shoulder and glared at me. I immediately yelled, “I’m sorry!” She didn’t seem to accept my apology. I felt guilty immediately. And that’s the story of the time I touched my first over the shirt boob.

3) The Aquabats –The Aggie – 2005ish

At this point in my life, I’d seen The Aquabats at least three times. If you’re not aware, The Aquabats are a ska band that dresses up in superhero costumes, and the supporting bands they tour with dress up as villains, and throughout The Aquabats set they fight each other. Its super fun and The Aquabats are well known for being a “clean” band. Like, they allegedly kicked Travis Barker, famed drummer of Blink 182, out because he had too many tattoos.

All of that was just to set up a story. The day after an Auqabats show, I told my mother about it. She told me that she thought that was interesting and would like to go to an Aquabats concert the next time they came through town. I saw that they were coming through town in a few months, and I figured, “It’s the Aquabats. This can’t get too weird.” So I invited my mom. But boy was I wrong. That night got extra weird.

I don’t know exactly what happened. I didn’t talk to my mom about it for a few years afterwards. I didn’t even tell this story to my friends for at least 6 years. All I remember is being on the floor of the concert. I think it was between the second act and the Aquabats. My mother and I were standing about 6-8 ft away from a very drunk man and his friend. They were having an argument.Take a minute to guess what that argument was about. I will bet you $1000 dollars that if you haven’t heard this story before you will never guess. Seriously, take a minute. Maybe call your friends, and make bets with them. You’re all going to be wrong.

The very drunk man was insisting that he could put his own balls in his mouth.  His friend insisted that he couldn’t, because no one can. That was the moment in my life that I watched a grown man drop his pants, grab his balls in his hands, bend over, and place said balls directly in his mouth. It was wild. They were just so fucking… stretchy. That legit honest to God happened in a concert venue, and the man in question didn’t even get thrown out. My mother and I didn’t discuss it for years.

You would understand if you’d seen it. They just stretched so far. Like imagine how far you think balls could possibly stretch and triple it. I’m not talking sack either. It was full on balls. It was insane. Imagine having to see that with your mom when you are like 17. I called my mom tonight and we discussed it.  This is a thing that happened for real.

4.) Latterman

Starlight 2015- were one of the openers to a Lawrence Arms tour that I saw

This band came out with no illusions or expectations. One of the first things that I remember them doing was asking the sound guy to turn down their monitors because “if this is what everyone else is hearing, I’m sorry. We aren’t used to playing shows with monitors.” They murdered that show. I bought their albums on ITunes, and I still listen to them on Spotify.

They were one of the first bands I heard live and started listening to on my own.  I think they’re broken up now, but their second and third albums are beautiful if you’re into that kind of thing.

5) The Lawrence Arms, Forever and Always

This one is kind of cheating because it isn’t just one concert. It’s a few chance things,  meetings, and a bunch of concerts over a bunch of years. I got introduced to Punk Rock by my cousin. If that hadn’t happened maybe I wouldn’t have been friends with the kids I met at Preston Junior High.

That carried on through high school. Seeing the Lawrence Arms, or off shoots of them comprised of at least 15 concerts in 5 cities over 11 years. For me, loving this band is years of finding people that love the same band as you, going to see a show with them wherever you live, singing along for the entire night, drinking too many beers, and hugging the people that mean the most to you while listenting to music that also means a lot to you.

Loving this band is also meeting a new coworker, having your first real conversation with him, and hearing him say “my favorite band is this kind of little band from Chicago.” Then you press him for the name of that band, and you can pull your shirt aside to show him a tattoo of that particular band’s logo. It’s also having matching tattoos with at least four people you know, and then meeting at least twenty people who have similar tattoos over the next few years.

No show will ever be better than a smallish venue with 400 people who all know the words nailing the sing-a longs to Brickwall Views and Ramblin’ Boys of Pleasure. Some people will be a little off, because a lot of people will be more than a little drunk. The band included.  But it’s the best. Some of my favorite moments have involved hugging friends and screaming Lawrence Arms lyrics at them while the actual Lawrence Arms were singing the same lyrics at me. That shit gets me to this day.

I don’t go to many shows these days, but the ones I’ve been to are always going to be present in my heart. I’ve had some weird ass nights when I saw some really strange things, and I’ve had some beautiful nights with the best people. Y’all stay golden.

My Four Most Memorable Concerts in Chronological Order

This is a documentation of my five favorite things in five different categories. I don’t want you to confuse this for a list of the five best things in five categories. Things like nostalgia, where I was at in my life when I encountered these things, and what they mean to me on a personal level are all included in these rankings.  These are the five things that mean the most to me in each of these categories.

Albums:

1. “The Greatest Story Ever Told” – The Lawrence Arms

This is my favorite album. I heard it the first time when I was 16. I listened to it weekly for years. I don’t do that anymore, but every few months I listen to it for about a week straight. I went out of my way to read a Russian fantastic realism novel because of this album. I’ve read the liner notes a hundred times. I have tattoos because of this album. Chris McCaughan is a God damn genius.

2. “College Dropout” – Kanye West

I hated rap as a teenager. I gradually began to like it during my first two years of college, and this was the first album that I really fell in love with. It’s been eight years, and I still get excited when I hear the opening bars of “All Falls Down.” I know it’s not Kanye’s best album, but it’s still my favorite Kanye album.

3. “I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning” – Bright Eyes

There is no better album to listen to on a cold, crisp fall or winter morning. This is probably the album that I’ve listened to the most times in my life. I quit using iTunes a long time ago so I can’t really check those stats. “Lua” is a masterpiece. This is the kind of album you can listen to while you sit in silence, drink some coffee, and have a conversation with yourself. It’s beautiful.

4. “Four One Five Two” – Sundowner

I found this album at a pretty fragile time in my life. It was mid-march in 2007. I was in college, and I was really sad. I don’t remember why. I bought it the day it came out. I was on campus, and I called the closest record store to see if they had a copy. I skipped class to walk down there and buy it. I listened to it for months. “A Midsummer Night’s Classic” is one of my favorite songs I’ve heard in my entire life. No matter what was happening, this album always put a smile on my face. Listening to this while the seasons changed walking around campus were some of the happiest times I’ve ever experienced. You know those moments where everything just seems perfect? That’s how I felt then.

5. “Good Kidd M.A.A.D City” – Kendrick Lamar

This is probably the best album on this list. For anyone that doesn’t know, each track is a chapter in a running narrative of a story about growing up in Compton. It’s incredible. Kendrick walked out with this album, flopped his dick on the table, and let everyone know he was here. For probably 3 months this was the only album I listened to in my car. Every drive to work, every time I went to the grocery store, every time I went anywhere, I rode with Kendrick. “To Pimp a Butterfly” had much larger artistic ambitions. It’s better, but GKMC really hit me in a special place.

I originally wrote this as anonymously possible, but I realized that no one will ever read it so I decided to go all out.

I grew up in a college town. It’s a predominately white, middle class community. I didn’t get any scholarships, so when I was getting ready to apply for college, my parents came to me and said the words, “We only have a little money to give you for college, but you can live at home for free if you stay in town.” So I stuck around and got a degree in mechanical engineering in five years at that school. College was great. I lived with my parents for three of the five years I was in school. I lived at home the first two years, moved out for two years, and moved back home for my last year because I didn’t want to be tied to a lease while I was job hunting.

Then I got a field job in oil and gas with an offer that let me stay in my hometown. I was stoked to stay, and I took it. I spent the next two-ish years on a rotation that had me working 100 hours a week or coasting through work life when things weren’t so busy. It was fun. I’ll never forget leaving my first day of work. I was ecstatic based solely on the fact that I didn’t hate it. I had to be at work at 4:00 am. I lived 45 minutes away from the place I worked, so I had to wake up at 2:30 in order to take a shower, make sure I was ready for work, and drive there. I worked from 4 am to 6 pm almost everyday. I worked two weeks on and one week off. The week off made it worth it.

After awhile doing that I got a call from my boss’es boss telling me about a job across the country. It was mine if I wanted it. I ended up taking it, and my mom was heartbroken about it. I moved to Pittsburgh two months later. Now, two years later, I’m still here in the ‘Burgh. It’s pretty been pretty good to me.