Never mind the homework, here's the Vegan Teacher

So much has happened since my last post, I don’t know where to begin!

First off: Michael Jackson. For me, the fact he’s actually gone is just starting to settle in. A friend of mine had tickets to one of his shows in London and I was anxiously awaiting her review of it (which would’ve been in another month or so). Alas, it will not be. Somewhere amongst my punk rock roots is a total appreciation of the King of Pop. I remember listening to Thriller, Bad and Dangerous all on cassette tape, focusing mainly on the beats but not denying his incredible vocal abilities. You can’t deny, in an age before music editing software and voice pitch correctors he was able to pull off some great stuff. Of course this was all complemented by his innovative dancing, no doubt his own personal catharsis. I was standing outside of the venue
Thursday night, 3 hours before we were supposed to play when a friend of mine told me he’d croaked. I didn’t believe her, it was all some zany ruse to promote his final concerts I figured. But then I saw the paper the next morning and that was that; the Elvis of my generation was gone. You know what? I don’t think anyone will ever be as big as him either, with the democratizing of music and collapse of major record labels spelling the end of the music superstar, I doubt we’ll ever see the crowning of another king.

Alright, what’s next on the chopping block… Today is my last day of teaching. I almost shit a brick yesterday when I got a paystub in the mail and it was significantly smaller than what I was anticipating. Turns out it was one of the two (?!) cheques I’ll be receiving for my summer pay. I’m super stoked because I was not enjoying contemplating what to do for summer work. With this whole teaching thing being an effort to avoid shitty labour jobs, entertaining the idea of hauling a wheelbarrow full of heavy shit around to pay rent is not easy. But it looks like there will be no need! Besides the odd shift at the restaurant and some bucks from the DJ night, it’s time to get creative and slowly work my way through several projects I have lined up which I’m sure will be used as fodder for summer blogging updates.

But this teaching contract has been great, and a heck of a learning experience. From my initiation into funny office politics (ie. the hen party at the water cooler), to stepping into some serious roles as an educator, I feel like it’s forced me to grow a lot. I even received a thank you card from the staff and a nod from the principal for the work I did while there, which was satisfying to say the least.

Of course some things remain the same. Let’s talk about playing well-organized music festivals, holy hell what a blast. Never having been part of one before, I didn’t really know what to expect. Not that the band I played there in is huge by any means, but the show was packed, the food was excellent and the bands were tight.

Let’s put it like this, shall we? The average day as a performer went down as follows: wake up, eat a superb breakfast (you will need these nutrients because they’re likely the only you’ll really have all day), find some coffee and shake off the previous night. Sit in the sun and contemplate the shows you want to take in, as well as where your camera ended up the night before. Ignore text message from friend sent at 3:30 asking where you were. You were sleeping in a closet, that’s where you were. Reach into your pocket and realize that you have 5 green tickets. These tickets can be used in exchange for goods (wobbly pops) and services (attitude from the waitress when she realizes you’re just another cheap musician). Decide you should probably get started, so head on down to the artist’s lounge for appetizers and another meet and greet.

At this point you are lively and chipper, it’s 2 in the afternoon, the sun is shining and things couldn’t be better. Exchange a green ticket for the finest cocktail available (see: tall can of Pilsner). Converse with some other musicians and start getting excited to see tonight’s bands. Exchange another green ticket. You are on the jib this weekend (ie, broke and not willing to pay for anything), so convince yourself that the lovely barkeep doesn’t mind you not shelling out for rounds. Realizing there’s a show in 30 minutes, exchange another green ticket and be on your merry way to a show at a place that serves only hot dogs.

When you get there, you will see more people you know. This is great news because you will likely not have to pay for more wonderful treats. Take care of your hot dog and PBR quickly though, the Monotonics are playing and in approximately 30 minutes, the place will be covered in stickiness while the singer perspires all over you via an incredible mustache. Catch a cab to an outdoor venue, Biz Markie is playing and you’re really anxious to see if he’ll jam on Benny and the Jets. He doesn’t but the show is nothing less than fantastic anyways, Biz is in fine form. Make your way to the Beer Gardens (essentially a euphemism for a place where the impending riff raff is kept behind a fence and long lines await anyone who has to use the facilities). After discovering that you can neither get free food or drink (and not for lack of trying), you run into King Khan, BBQ and
a guy from Montreal you ended up on tour with last summer. After expressing an agreeable amount of discontent regarding the venue, make your way back to the artist’s lounge where you will be greeted with an ample amount of fresh green tickets.

It’s 6:00 now and essentially go time. King Khan is in party mode and you’re trying to keep up. The fact that you have a much smaller stature and are about 10 years younger does not bode well for you. Go along with it anyways since you’re convinced this is the best day of your life. After all, you and your friends have already commemorated the event with an clever name (Epic Friday) and proclaimed to all those around you, the name of your own personal club for the day (Booze Snakes). Make your
way back to the hot dog place for another dog and another show.

After the show, you’re really good to go, jovial and enjoying being in great company with more excellent bands to check out. Head back to the artists lounge, exchange more green tickets and make your way to the Breeders set. Convinced you’re now the coolest dude in town, use your new found confidence to walk right backstage and watch the Breeders from the side of the stage. After the set, say something dumb to Kim Deal, mutter something about how you want to marry Kelley and hook up with another excellent friend who just arrived. Find out the set times for the secret shows, exchange another ticket and head out to see These Arms Are Snakes. Run into more people, but this time you realize that you’re less capable when it comes to talking. Resolve to just kind of take it easy for a while. Find some water, take a seat. Oh oh, here comes more free beers. The night is slowly becoming one of those evenings where you begin to slip into lala-ohoh-Land and you’ve got to make it through too see the Obits set because Rick Froberg is one of your faves.

Find water, take another seat. Start getting a little surly. Your friends and bands are becoming a barrier for what you really want at this point: sleep, but you’re got to power through. Find water, take a whiz, find water, slag a hometown band and realize you’d probably be better off if you kept your big mouth shut for the rest of the night. You will now communicate only in grunts. What a surprise, you forgot your earplugs! Go to the bathroom, rip off some toilet paper to stuff in your ears and stake your claim right up front to watch the Obits (who end up totally killing it as a three piece until their delayed guitar player arrives). Impressed but tired. Really tired. You’re tired and you want sleep now. Your friends have become your enemies, talking about finding a place to party. You are not interested in any more parties. You do not want anything but some food and some sleep. Go along with
the first person heading south to a party and get them to take you, slouched over like a half empty sack of boozy flour, the hell home.

Oh oh, the party is going down where you plan on sleeping. You try to make your way to your sleeping bag but find nothing than more annoying obsticles trying to “interact” with you, telling you to be “sociable for once”. At this point, you are a wreck, you do not care what you need to do or say, you are getting to your sleeping bag. Tell off who you need to, mutter something about someone and how you think they make the best sandwitches in the whole damn world and how someone else is the best
person you’ve ever met and how they play giutar like nobodies business, leave them with that and slither on downstairs, desperately looking for some peace and quiet. A vacant room! Go to the far side of it, as far away from the party as possible. Toss everything out of the closet (again). This will act as a barracade for the uninvited parade of sloppiness moving about the house! Remove socks. You struggle in the dark with sleeping bag and resolve to just putting it over your body. Yes, that will do. I think there’s a shirt or two covering your feet anyways. It doesn’t matter. You do not care. You are done.

Sleep for 5 hours and repeat.