Hey Grandma

So not only does it suck that I missed X play at the Norva this past weekend, but I have further compounded Teh Suck by volunteering to work The Zone 106.1 Winter Meltdown show at the CCC next Wednesday where I will be exposed to a variety of acts that I have little-to-sub-zero interest in seeing, like Fall Out Boy, Gavin Degraw, Kaci Brown, Lifehouse, Tyler Hilton, Natasha Bedingfield, and the cast of Laguna Beach (what the bloody hell are they going to do, stand on stage and wave?). Well not exactly volunteering -- I will be getting paid, dammit, for not only will I need to be a convincing huckster for their wares at the show but they will all be signing autographs at my table and I may have to go into full on talent wrangler mode, unless they managed to bring their own "people" with them. I am reminded of when my friend David was the manager of Tower Records in Manhattan and he had to scream in Prince's face to get him to go out and sign autographs to all the fans lined up around the block outside the store after he decided on a whim he didn't feel like doing it anymore. This was right after Prince left Warner Bros. and he no longer had corporate watchdogs around making sure he did these things. Oh pleeeease give me the opportunity to take a member of Laguna Beach dooown onto the floor for being recalcitrant. I even settle for a dirty look from one of 'em.

I suppose the irony here is that once I used to do all these things happy and willingly, and many times just for free, back when Joe was doing A.S.K. Productions or even just networking throughout the local punk scene back when I was in my early 20's. But back then I was more than happy to man the Buzzcocks T-shirt table just to help out one the best as well as the nicest punk bands that have ever put it out there. So what's happened to me now? Am I officially entering into that dreaded Old Fart Zone, relegated to sitting in my rocking chair shaking my cane at all the kinderpunks passing by in their emo glasses and freshly-pressed Hot Topic wardrobe, becoming the very thing I used to mock when I was their age? I only ever planned to buy a rocking chair for my front porch once I was 90-years old and well past retirement. Although instead of a cane I'd probably wind up with a sawed-off shotgun on my lap and a big painted piece o' wood with the words GIT OFFA MAH PROPERTY staked into my front lawn. And Bad Brains blasting out of every window of my rickety old house.

Can everybody tell that I'm PMSing today? {{grumble grumble}}