Story Of My Life

. . . . So don’t make any plans for September 10.
Too late. I already did.
It’s Grandparents Day.
So what. My grandparents are dead.
We’re going out there on the 10th. . . .
I love it how you assume that I haven’t made plans for the 10th. You didn’t even ask me what my plans were. Going out there is more $ than the price of the show.

Which is a moot point, because how am I supposed to tell my mother that seeing a bunch of punk bands play their last sets @ the Continental is more important than her first Grandparents Day? And even as I write this, I know that it isn’t. But, still, I cursed fate and raged to myself about how unfair this all is. What is it with my family and that venue? Couldn’t they have made it the following weekend? Then again, the following weekend isn’t good for me, either.

(Not all New Paltz grads are broke-ass losers like myself. Dr. Max Strum is the lead singer of a pretty happening band, as well has having a doctorate in hangover research.) When I found out that Modrocket was playing Cake Shop on the 10th I was all psyched, but then thought, Dammit, I’m going to see Bla—the family. I meant family. The Continental site listed some of the bands and said And more and didn’t list set times. So maybe I’d luck out and it won’t be one of those afternoon shows. Yes and no. 15 bands, 9 who I’ve already seen and it’s those 20-minute sets, but it’s the Continental fer fuck’s sake, and (for the most part) it’s these 15 bands. And while the Shoppers are on at 10, WW9 is on at 7:20. Fuck! This is so unfair. Seeing that, it was almost like, yeah, big deal, the Shoppers are playing Continental again. I’ve seen that before. (No offense.) But I have never seen WWIX there. OK, seeing WW9 @ Continental right before there are no more bands there is right up there with First Grandparents Day. See, what would’ve been awesome is going to see Modrocket, since their site said 5PM, having some cake, and heading to the Continental for the rest of the evening. And getting pizza across the street. Mentioning how my mom is ruining my life at this late age is tacky, right? Raging about how unfair this all is makes me sound like a spoiled brat, right?

Okay. I put a baby flyer in my wallet (wow, there is a reason for the smaller versions) for handy reference so I can compare with the train schedule and know when to have a hacking fit. I did mention how sick I’ve been all week, how I was coughing till I puked (even on the subway). People have been looking at me like I have the plague. Because the thing is, with my family, time just stands still with them. Especially my mother, even if I’m not trying to make a show.
(Y'know, it was probably a lot like this, except Joey Methadone wasn't playing drums. And I wasn't there taking pix.)

In the end, though, there’s nothing I want to do more after being out late the night before, getting up early, hanging out with a shrieking baby, and stuffing my face all day than be serenaded by the NY Shitty crew in 20-minute blasts. I got back into Jamaica at 9:06 and it would’ve been a tight race if I enjoy ruining my stomach lining while racing into the city for a band’s 20-minute set. Besides, I only had $4.18 on me and stopping at the ATM would’ve ruined the race. And besides, I really need to cut back on shows. Only terrorists and pedophiles would miss the show? Good thing I’m a terrorist because I’m the kid’s godmother and all. So not only did I miss the show, I also missed the season premiere of The Simpsons and Family Guy. Sometimes I just can’t win.

And because there’s nothing I love more than spending my 3-day vacation writing the first half of this and not being able to use it at all, here’s my (overdue) apologies to World War IX and Blackout Shoppers.