Things look very different from the stage; part one.

I call this part one, but it’s really just a stream of shit that slams my face once in a while and says, “Write about me, asshole.” So, in my defense, writing about this isn’t really my choice. It’s just something I have to do.

I could see this being a series. But, I don’t actually know what part two would look like, as I’m not even sure what the point of the first part is.

I’m also not sure who I’m writing this to, or for. It could fit anywhere and it could be for anyone. I suppose that means it’s for you. Do with it as you may. They’re just words. I’ll make more!

I Can’t See You When the Spot’s in my Eyes!

I started this a few days ago and loaded it onto my tablet. From there, I smashed about a bit with it while on the drive here. I, a passenger in my own vehicle, as were my guitars, because I’d already decided to take a couple of drinks as preparation to fortify myself to say no later.

See, this event has free food and drinks – in a meet-n-greet VIP lounge. Basically, it’s where the snobs come to pretend they’re better than the rest of the audiences. They’re not even fans.

Fortunately, they’ll never read this. If they do, thanks for the money.

I might be inebriated – but not bad. I only had two drinks and now I’m on a third. The first two were hours ago. It might be that I’ve ingested something else, but we shan’t admit to felonies on this here network of interconnected computers.

Hint: I’m really, really verbose. I tend to think it’s profound, but it’s not.

So, I’m between sets – and at a show, right this fucking minute.

Earlier, someone (probably a cute lady) yelled out, “Hey TheBuddha!” Well, she didn’t say TheBuddha, ’cause that’s not my real name. It’s pretty pointless using a stage name around here. So, they know me as my first name or Dr. G.

I have no idea who it was. I was also pretty busy. I’m actually surprised I could hear her – she’s got a set of pipes, I’d guess. I’m wearing ear plugs and our kit is meant to fill an outdoor venue with sound for up to 30,000 people. I’m in a hall that maxes out at 525 people. (I think we’re over capacity.)

I kinda made a few motions of acknowledging that I heard her, lest she keep yelling. I was too busy to wave and I’m not actually sure where the sound came from.

People… I love you, I really do…

But, I can’t see you when the jerks behind the booth think I’m supposed to be looking good and put a fucking spotlight in my face. To make matters worse, we’ve got a film crew in here so I had some jackass sitting almost on top of my pedal station and crawling around like he was an invisible ninja.

The queen of the ceremony, has graduated this is her parent’s affair. Which explains why I’m out on a Thursday evening. To top it off, she’s going to come on and join our encore which has now moved to three songs.

But, I love it. For all I piss and moan, I’m in my glory.

This seemed profound:

Everyone feels special when a “rock star” acknowledges them.

Tonight, we’re rock stars. We are, too. We are there to be the focus of attention and put things in a festive mood. At no point do we move from the forefront. We stay the center of attention until we leave. (The festivities shall go on without us, I presume.)

They probably think we’re going to go have a great party after this. If only they knew. I’m here ’cause it’s like an hour drive to my house and I can be curled up in bed pretty soon ’cause I’m not loading the truck. Nope. They said they’d have staff here to do load out.

Anyhow, I’ll type some more of this on the ride home. I don’t know when/if I’ll even publish it.

Yeah, the reality is that I’ll settle in to sleep and rejuvenate. In fact, I call it ‘my time in the rejuvenation chamber.’ There’s probably a reason for that – but I suspect it’s ’cause I’m pretty much just a giant five year old.

So, the kid can sing. We did a quick rehearsal and only three of us can play the song, so keys and bass are just gonna play along. It’ll be fine! However, the kid can sing.

Also, one guy from the film crew wanted to follow me into the bathroom. “Are you doing drugs in there?” Umm… Yeah? That’s actually why you can’t come in. They’re making the video for the family – not for me. If it were me, I’d be in there pointing the camera at my dick while I piss in the sink. (I told you already, I’m five!)

Anyhow, the older folks were a bit older than I and the youngest folks were about the age of most of the band members. Then, there parents where in between.

The older group lit up when we did some 70s stuff. They seemed a bit taken aback when we followed that by turning our volumes up (just a little!) and giving a bitchin’ rendition of Mr. Crowley.  Some grunge seemed to spur on the parents. Then, we tried something new. We did Ke$sha’s song called Die Young which actually gives me the chance to really, really show off.

Also, I now know what “twerking” is. Huh… The things kids get up to. Lesson learned. The lesson being, I fucking love college girls!

Anyhow, we brought in two drum kits for a damned good reason. One being, I drum better than our actual drummer. He’s very good – don’t get me wrong. I just have like 10,000 hours more than he has behind the kit and a background in rudimentary drumming with my history being in drum and bugle corps.

So, we both drummed Die Young while I ogled the lovely young ladies.

I’m pretty sure their parents wondered why, exactly, they’d hired us and sent ’em to a fancy school.

I smoothed that over by staying behind the kit and doing two Rush songs.

Funny… We’re doing something wrong. Rush does their live shows with just three people. It takes us all six – and I could use a seventh!

Now, onto the encore! We had agreed she could come on stage and sing a song with us. The song she picked was Janice Joplin’s Piece of My Heart. Fortunately, a few of us knew it well enough and we were able to make it work.

She’s got some skills, actually. I’d had the lovely ladies turn the mic down, but then I have them the signal to turn it up to match our mics. She did alright and I got to get nasty with a Fender.

Anyhow, the band did very well. I’m so impressed with the kids. I really am. They’re shitfaced, by now. They are staying back and doing the VIP thing and I’m on my way home.

I’m not even a wee bit tipsy. That’s why I had the pre-game drinks. They make me want to not drink more and free booze is a great temptation. We’ve been asked about at least three more shows (didn’t give prices) and there’s at least two more interested. I’ll see what we can do.

That means we’ve made it. I told Bees Sugar Provost that I’d know within three shows.

I’m kind of annoyed that the band stayed reasonably sober and tight. They just don’t make ’em like they used to. When I was a kid, I’d have shown up 2 hours early and bugged the caterer until they had the bar open with the plentiful free drinks.

I have the youngest member of the band in the car. She’s coming home with us. I have a car full of three women, six guitars, and whatever she brought. We didn’t even stick around to load out. We got a few names, numbers, signed a few things, and checked to see how much merch sold.

Put it this way, the kids are getting a bonus! They did well. I’m so proud of them and the work they’ve put into making this band the way it is. And, as it’s the third show, I can absolutely tell you that we’re going to fill seats.

The gear is maybe still being used – and the band may be playing on. I don’t know. I don’t care. My personal gear is in the car. The rest is insured and the venue has insurance. Our drummer is in charge. He’s also in charge of making sure everyone gets back to my house safely.

I’m gonna house ’em all tonight. (Yes, yes I do have room.) Right now, I’ve got two lovely young ladies and a lovely older woman driving me home. I only get to shag one of ’em. One’s way too young and the other is a band member. The missus doesn’t count, she does lights and sound.

I’m just not sure when they’ll come rolling in and how many they’ll have in tow. I told ’em not to bring any strange home with them. But, they’re young and they’re bound to be mostly drunk. I can envision myself going back down to drive them all back to the house. Meh… I’ll be sober by then.

So, like I said, it’s very different from up on the stage. I’m just about 10 minutes from home and I’m not even sure if I’ve enough signal to post this. Meh… It’ll cache it.

I’m thinking about making this a sorta-regular thing. Y’all want to hear what it’s like to be an actual “rock star?” It’s not nearly as interesting as it is in the movies. I didn’t even see any tits tonight. Nobody shared any drugs with me – other than weed. (I brought my own, thanks.) There was no giant afterparty. Well, not for me. The rest of the band is living it up like they’re rock stars – ’cause they are.

I secretly hope I have to go bail one or two of them out in the morning. Have some heart, you damned nice kids who have way more skill at your age than you should! You went to fucking bandcamp and didn’t learn to ride a motorcycle while you’re drunk. Also, you can’t drive a truck worth a fuck. (They’ll be reading this.) Take it to the shop. I’m not doing the next brake job. If you wear out the clutch, push it.

You kids did better than I could have asked for tonight.

And, we’re headed up the driveway in just a few minutes. Should I keep this up?

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