The new Chiodos album, “Devil”, was released yesterday, in perfect tandem with the stress volcano that was waiting to erupt from within my head. Henry was a good boy and bought it for me while I was at dumb work yesterday and not only did I fall asleep with it playing in the bedroom, but I have been listening to loudly all morning and you know what? COME AT ME, BRO. Ugh, I feel so much better, and I didn’t even have to punch more holes in my house.

You might know that Chiodos is one of my favorite bands. Top 5 for sure. I have Chiodos lyrics on my arm, a framed picture of Craig Owens on my wall, and about 87 paintings that were inspired by their songs. At one point in my life, I was writing about them so much that I had to give them their own category on this dumb blog.

Things got weird for awhile there when Craig was basically fired and replaced with Brandon Bolmer, and then Craig went on to start his own band. I loved the album that Chiodos released without him, and I also loved the album that Craig released with his new band, D.R.U.G.S., but it made me feel so sad, guilty and uncomfortable at the same time, like trying to assure both parents that I still loved them equally after a divorce. (I mean, hypothetically. I didn’t give a shit at all when my parents divorced.) It didn’t help that Twitter allowed the fans to witness in real time the thinly-veiled barbs that were being flung between the two camps.

But in 2012, they reconciled. And now they’re CHIODOS again. And this album, their first with Craig since 2007, was worth the wait. It is everything: brutal, hard, melodic, soft, pop, post-hardcore, raw, beautiful. It has their signature sound, but it so much more well-rounded and mature, the proper transition from Bone Palace, which is one of my favorite albums of all time. I listened to Bone Palace on Sunday in the car, after having purposely not played it in quite some time, and it felt like having a little piece of me mended when I didn’t even realize it was broken to begin with.

And with “Devil,” it’s like being home again. I can’t wait to see them next month in Cleveland! (WITH EMAROSA AND HANDS LIKE HOUSES, I might die.)

You know what the best part is? I asked Henry a few days to please be serious and admit that there is at least one band that he enjoys seeing live (excluding Ted Nugent–“OMG I ONLY SAW HIM ONCE, GET OVER IT!”) and without even hesitating, he said Chiodos. So I of course translated this to mean that he won’t be mad if I buy him a pair of Chiodos booty shorts for real.

To conclude, my favorite thing about Chiodos is that they can go from this:

to that:

…like it’s no big thang. When the screaming starts at the 56 second mark, I feel like my neuroses are being enveloped in the most tender bear hug ever. I can think of several people I’d like to send this song to, if you know what I mean.

But so far this one is my favorite:

I have a feeling we’re going to be listening to this album in the car for a long while. Good thing Henry and Chooch like Chiodos, too. (LOL, like I would actually care otherwise.)

When Emarosa posted this Thursday night, I sat next to Henry on the couch and cried. Then I made him watch it and I yelled, “HOW ARE YOU NOT CRYING?!” and he was like, “Because I don’t really care.” This was while he was watching that thing on Rocky Road bars, so he was too busy q-tipping his dickhole over that.

Is it weird to say that I am so proud of this band for persevering, for refusing to let the Jonny Craig drama dig their grave? I’m just so happy that they found a new singer and I can’t wait, you guys, I just can’t wait. We’re going to see them in Clevelend next month and I honestly think about it every single day.

In other news, tonight is Henry’s big Stella & Dot trunk show! He’s running around getting the house in order and mumbling varying degrees of hate-fueled statements regarding his life. Have a good weekend, suckers!

Henry and I checked out of the airport Sheraton early Saturday morning; as soon as we walked out into the parking lot, Henry inhaled deeply and said, “Mmmm, the smell of jet fuel in the morning. Reminds me of THE SERVICE.” I lost another one of my lives laughing so hard at him. God, I love it when he slips up and mentions his SERVICE days.

Our plans for the morning were to finally get to see our friends Terri and Christian after two failed attempts the previous two years. It’s funny, because in this day and age, most of the new friends I meet are online; but in this case, we actually met Terri and Christian in person first, back in the fall of 2011 when we were all in Cleveland for the AP Tour (and to eat at Melt, obviously). And since then, we have gotten to know each other better through Facebook and Twitter and I have been dying to hang out with them again!

Henry and I don’t need to be entertained, so when Terri suggested that we just eat breakfast at their place and hang out, I was all for it and Henry seemed relieved because he’s always tired and doesn’t like walking around looking at things. Terri even made three different kinds of breakfast casseroles! One had fake bacon in it and I was so happy! (They’re vegetarians too! I can call myself that again because I have re-eradicated seafood from my diet, so come at me bro.)

I was a little nervous on the way there because we had only ever spent that one day together three years ago and what if it was going to be totally awkward? Well, it wasn’t, so you can stop holding your breath. I mean, I was still at my usual level of awkward, of course, but at least Henry was there to ease my food-cutting anxiety. We hung out for three hours, talking about music, music, music and more music and I can’t tell you how fucking awesome that was! And we learned that Terri and Christian met while working at Tower Records, how apropros! We even had civil hockey discussions, even though our teams are huge rivals! And I found out that Christian was at the aforementioned Type O Negative show in 1998 that I couldn’t attend because some bitch named Your Druidess didn’t show up with the tickets! It’s funny how many times that memory was recalled last weekend.

I wish we could have spent more time with them, but Henry and I had plans to attend the Hollywood Theater’s “Twin Peaks” party that night, so we had to hit the road around noon. As soon as their door shut behind us, I said to Henry, “If we lived closer, I would hang out with them so much, they would get so sick of me.” (So basically, two times.) And Henry said, “Yes, I like them. They’re nice people.” THAT IS A BIG DEAL FOR HENRY TO HAVE AN OPINION! He is usually so neutral about everything. But I think what he was really thinking was, “I wish we did live closer because then Erin can just go to shows with them while I sit at home watcing NCIS in my underwear.” Seriously though, thank you for opening up your home to us and stuffing us with delicious breakfast foods! We owe you one next time you’re in our city! (Don’t worry, Henry will do the cooking.)

“I hate you,” I sighed as Henry drove around looking for a gas station.

“Why?” he mumbled with very little emotion.

“Because you weren’t working at a record store when we met!” I cried.

“Either were you!” he shot back. THAT’S NOT THE POINT, HENRY.

***

OMG, the ride home was so boring. There was a hockey game on, so that entertained us for a little while. We stopped at a rest area so Henry could finally get his stupid Auntie Em pretzel bites, but I threw a fit because he didn’t get mustard so I stormed out into the parking lot, because this is how you get what you want when you’re 34. (And also 3 and 4.)

Henry went back and got mustard.

Later, we stopped at another rest area for a late lunch/dinner situation, and he accidentally pulled into the “Trucks/RV” side of the parking lot which caused me to scream, “OMG YOU FUCKED UP NOW, HENRY ROBBINS!” while making all kinds of dramatic gasps. Naturally, he was annoyed. Especially when every hour after that, I would casually say, “Hey remember when you broke the law by USING THE TRUCKS AND RV ENTRANCE? God, you’re such a moron. You could have gotten us killed.”

“We would NOT have gotten killed,” he sighed.

***

We made it home with about 45 minutes to spare before we had to leave again. While I was upstairs changing clothes, I found out that Henry never told his mom about our Saturday night plans so she thought she was done babysitting Chooch as soon as we got home. Oh sorry, Judy, didn’t your son tell you? You’re stuck here for three more hours. Possibly even forever.

God Henry, you’re such an asshole.

Luckily, she’s a good grandma and didn’t give a shit about a few more hours with Chooch. (Who, by the way, didn’t even miss us.)

***

The Hollywood Theater is only a few blocks away from our house, but Henry has never been there because he is so lame. I’m actually surprised I was even able to get him to go Saturday night, but we do both equally love Twin Peaks, so there’s that. He refused to dress up, though. I tried to get him to go as Mike, the One-Armed Man, because literally all he would have to do was wear a black t-shirt and not put his stupid left arm through the sleeve, but even THAT was too costume-y for him. So he went as Henry.

The theater was playing a marathon of all the episodes starting that Thursday, culminating in a party Saturday night, which entailed a costume contest, raffles and the big draw: a live performance by Silencio, a local Pittsburgh band that plays music from Twin Peaks and other David Lynch movies. I can’t tell you how much I love that music, especially the music from Twin Peaks.

Also, we were promised damn good cherry pie, and if I told you I wasn’t thinking about it all last week, I would be lying. Cherry pie is actually my favorite kind of pie and it pisses me off that restaurants around here usually have every other kind of fucking fruit pie but cherry. Maybe it looks too menstrual?

Anyway, I’m a lousy dresser-upper. It’s very hard for me to commit to a costume and I usually wind up half-assing it in the end because I’m lazy and unmotivated. (See: Fatal Attraction.) I didn’t want to go the obvious plactic-wrapped-Laura Palmer route, so I opted instead for one of my favorite characters, the Sheriff’s secretary Lucy Moran. I picked her because she’s awesome, but also because all I had to do was get a 90s’ish sweater from Goodwill, pair it with a skirt and tights, and put my hair in a half-pony. Henry kept trying to cut my bangs to make it look more authentic but, no. I’m not ready to rejoin the bangs-having society*. (However, I did order a pair of clip-on bangs from eBay for $5 but they sent me a bleached blond pair instead of the ones that would actually match my shitty hair color, so thanks for ruining my already-destined-to-fail costume, stupid Taiwanese seller.)

*However, if and when I’m ready, Henry could probably give me good bangs. (BANGS, NOT BANG.) When I did have bangs, he was always super good at trimming them and my hair stylist would always be so impressed that his meat-hands could pull off such precise scissor-y. (SCISSOR-Y NOT SCISSORING.) Of course he could. Henry excels at girly things.

So 90s. So sweater-y. So wow.

When I looked at this picture of myself last weekend, I thought, “Hmm, I look familiar….” and then after awhile it occurred to me that I looked like 15-year-old Erin. So, what I learned from this is that I spent my entire 10th grade year accidentally emulating the Lucy Moran hairstyle. Also, I still have the same dopey smile.

We got to the Hollywood right around 7 and proceeded to stand around like social pariahs because god forbid we should make new friends, ever. Henry bought a can of PBR (lol) and I got some coffee from the place I made Janna walk to last October, because they had a table set up and the two guys behind it kept wanting to talk to me but I think I was in the middle of one of those social strokes I sometimes succumb to? Honestly, I just stood there and kept saying, “Oh, really?” I HATE MYSELF.

We grabbed seats near the front of the theater and I got comfortable with my damn fine cup of coffee and cherry pie, and yes, it was damn fine. (Homemade!)

Silencio came on around 8:00 and Henry promptly fell alseep. Not because they were boring, but their music is so smooth and those seats are really comfortble. (Not to mention Professional Driver had been driving for 6+ hours that day, and the day before.)

Scenes from various David Lynch works played on the screen behind them, complementing the sounds with a bit of creepiness.

In between sets, the Hollywood Theater people came out to do the raffle drawing and I REALLY wanted to win the log. Yes, it was just a log, but I wanted it. There was also a set of these amazing David Lynch movie posters that an artist donated, but I didn’t win those either. I HATE NOT WINNING.

I went through a brief stint senior year of high school where I was obsessed with Angelo Badalamenti because of the Lost Highway soundtrack. I keep telling Chooch that he was only 8 when he started piano lessons, but Chooch as usual does not give a fuck. BE THE NEXT BADALAMENTI, SON.

Anyway, if you have never seen Twin Peaks, both seasons are on Netflix and you should go and do that. Go get mono or something and then lay there and watch it all. It’s worth it.

On our way out, we snagged a “The Owls Are Not What They Seem” cupcake for Chooch as a consolation for leaving him parentless for two days. Again though, he honestly didn’t give a shit that we were gone. He’s at that age, I guess.

Silencio was pretty fantastic and even though I hated being in a rush all day, I was glad that we were able to work this into our itinerary. It was a fun way to cap off three nights of three very different bands. That should tide me over for awhile. (It won’t. But at least there’s Eisley on April 10th!)

P.S. That sweater is totally now a part of my regular wardrobe.

The closest I’d ever been to the Trocadero in Philadelphia was October of 1999, when my friend Cinn and I were stood up by some goth bitch who had our tickets for the Type O Negative show. Fourteen years later, I finally got to go inside.

****

When I saw in December that The Sound of Animals Fighting were reuniting for a very small, intimate tour and had added an extra Philly date (the first one had sold out lightning quick), I was stoked. But first I had to beg Henry. “It can be my Christmas present!” I pleaded. “You don’t have to get me anything else!” (Of course he got me other shit too because he knows better.) The thing with this band is that they’re a sort of supergroup, so touring is hard for them to pull off, logistically. They played like 4 shows I think, in 2006. 4 shows, ever. And they were in California and Las Vegas, so…while I played the FUCK out of the live DVD they released, I never got to see them live.

Until now!!

I remember when I first heard about them, and it was all still a mystery then. OMG who are these guys wearing animal masks?! But then it was pretty obvious, once I heard it, that one of the “Skunk” was definitely Anthony Green, because oh dear lord, do I love that man. Circa Survive pretty much got me through one extremely suicidal summer, and to be honest, it’s a miracle that Henry and I are even still together. I often wonder how much worse off I would have been through times like those if I didn’t have music to stave off a portion of the mania. I know that sometimes people will hear “screamo” (we’ll just call it that, even though it’s not what TSOAF is), they don’t understand the appeal. “How can you listen to something when you can’t understand the words?” Or “this music doesn’t make sense to me.” Right? I can’t speak for everyone who likes this sort of music, but for me, it’s always been about the way it makes me feel emotionally and mentally. The screaming mimics what I sometimes feel in my head, like a mental gang-banging, and it is extremely cathartic and exhilarating for me. And then the music itself is so chaotic and janky, it’s like it understands me. And I understand it. And really, that’s the best way I can explain it.

But then with a band like TSOAF, you get the beautiful, clean vocals as well, from Matthew Kelly, Rich Balling and Matt Embree, and it just ties the whole thing together into a pretty bi-polar package.

BUT I DIGRESS. You probably aren’t here from some boring post-hardcore lesson, so I will save the rest for my Dear Diary and just tell you about how miserable Henry was all night. Yay!

***

The drive there was very uneventful. It started snowing literally the moment we pulled out of our driveway, so the first hour or so of the trip was terrible.

I made Henry listen to all kinds of music that he hates, like Gem Club. He kept being totally dramatic about it, pretending to nod off. “Please make me more depressed than I already am,” he mumbled, so I tweeted all of this and then Gem Club favorited it. This is how I make connections on Twitter, you guys.

We ate lunch at a shitty rest area where Henry bitched about having to buy me Starbucks and the fact that Auntie Em’s was out of pretzel bites.

We were one of the first 10 people in line before the doors opened because I was in A Mad Hurry. Equal Vision announced on Instagram last week that each TSOAF show was going to get its own t-shirt design, but only 100 each would be printed. My TSOAF hoodie is one of my favorite pieces of merch ever, so I was determined to get one of these fucking shirts. So we stood in line with all the other die-hards, and I realized that I hadn’t been that close to the front of a concert line since 2001 when my friend Shawn and I got to Nick’s Fat City 3 hours early for a Cold show. When I told Henry this, he just rolled his eyes. Because he’s too old to give a fuck about these things. Don’t ever get old, you guys.

“There’s Anthony,” Henry said, elbowing me as Anthony Green and his wife Meredith walked down the sidewalk. HE IS SUCH A GOOD WINGMAN! Also, LOL forever at Henry unwittingly knowing so much about the scene.

The doors eventually opened a little after 7 and I made a beeline for the merch booth, where, for the first time in pretty much ever, I got to tell the merch girl that I needed a size small. (Only because it was boy sizes, though; don’t worry–I’m still semi-chubby.) Anyway, thank you Henry for not ruining my night by being a total tightwad! I love this shirt so much!

I’m learning how to smile naturally.

Perhaps at this time I should talk about how, in Henry’s eyes, I fucked up. In my haste to get the hell out of the house Friday morning and embark on our road trip, I left my wallet on the coffee table. I knew that I had the tickets, and that’s all that mattered to me. Forgot the hairbrush? Pfft, I’ll just send Henry out to buy a new one in the morning. Forgot the gift I was planning to give our Philly friends Terri and Christian the next day? That sucks, but I can just mail it when we get back. Forgot my wallet? NO OVER-21 ENTRY FOR ME.

<

This isn’t something that I give a shit about, but the thing is, that’s the trade-off for Henry going to these shows with me: I (sometimes) will abandon all of the action in an effort to make Mister Miserable a little more comfortable in the grown-up area. Like the one time we went to see Pierce the Veil at Mr. Small’s and Henry’s stupid stomach hurt him so I was like FINE WE CAN GO TO THE BALCONY and literally it was me and a bunch of motherfucking PARENTS. So lame.

The Trocadero has a beautiful balcony, but it’s off limits without an ID. I told Henry he was welcome to go up there once the show started, but he was all, “NO JUST FORGET IT” which tells me he was secretly having a nice time. Or just wanted something to bitch about later.

The opening band was Unwed Sailor. Henry hated them because god forbid, there is no singer, OMG. I thought they were nice and soothing, an appropriate precursor for what was to come.

We were standing near the door to the backstage area, so Anthony walked by us a few times and THEN HE AND HENRY EXCHANGED PLEASANTRIES AND I COULDN’T STOP LAUGHING. It is endlessly funny to me when Henry makes contact with people in bands that I like, because:

1. it’s Henry
2. it’s Henry saying hello to people way cooler than Henry
3. it’s Henry

And then he gets all embarrassed when I make a big deal about it and that just fuels the laughter.

After Unwed Sailor played, I said to Henry, “You know, I’m not saying I’m going to be one of those pushy moms, but if Chooch ever decided to be in a band, holy shit I would be the proudest mom of all time.” I paused for a second, mulling it over, and then added, “But just to spite me, he’ll probably be something dumb. Like a doctor.”

“I would be happy if he became a car mechanic,” Henry weighed in. “Something that’s useful to me.” Seriously? By the time Chooch is an adult, Henry’s not going to be driving anything but a Hoveround.

Around 9:30, the lights went out and the intro started playing while silhouettes of orange and yellow people were ushered onto the stage and place in various positions of worship around Matthew Kelly, who then sang one of my favorite TSOAF songs of all time, The Heretic. And here is where I began to openly weep. And I didn’t give a single fuck either because I knew every single person standing near me understood.

(I AM STARTING TO CRY ALL OVER AGAIN AS I TYPE THIS IN MY OFFICE-THING.)

So here is a video that some guy took from the sold-out show the night before. He recorded the entire intro, so it doesn’t really start until about the 3:30 mark, IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN WATCHING IT. (I do highly recommend that you do though, because it’s beautiful. However, be warned that it fades right into the next song which is scream-y. This was the point in the night where the crowd fucking EXPLODED and Henry was probably like, “Oh, how I love these shows.”)

Thank you for recording this, Guy at the March 20th Show.

After the final note of The Heretic, the rest of the band came out and Anthony Green vomited screams all over our faces and I wept even harder, because ANTHONY GREEN. I have a framed picture of him on my fucking wall, for Christ’s sake.

Please excuse my terrible pictures. I am not a concert photographer and was way too busy freaking the fuck out to worry about getting the perfect shot.

I didn’t get a chance to look at Henry’s melting face at all because we weren’t standing near each other by the time TSOAF came out. Some tall douchebag had planted himself right in front of me so I moved up some. I don’t think Henry gave a shit; for all I know, he had gone up to the balcony. THAT’S COOL, BRO.

It felt so good to hear Anthony scream, made me feel warm and safe like being hugged by a fat grandma. His stage presence is incredible. When I asked Henry later on if he agreed, he reluctantly said yes.

I’ll tell you one thing, there was some mad respect radiating from the crowd that night in the Trocadero. We all knew we were seeing something special.

The older I get, the more grateful I feel after I get to experience things, and this was definitely one for the “grateful” column. I appreciate so many bands on such a grand level that it is awe-inspiring at times to be so close to them. It means so much, but I will never be able to put it in words, not even if I made up my own language. I think I stopped making sense a long time ago.

****

Afterward, Professional Driver Henry didn’t know how to get out of the parking garage and a security guard had to come to his rescue. Listen to him hyuk’ing it up it this video, totally playing the “dumb blonde card” so a security guard can feel all strong and manly.

While Henry blindly navigated around downtown Philly and swore at the GPS, I cheerfully cried out things like, “THE REAL WORLD PEOPLE USED TO GO THERE!” to which he would spit, “I don’t give a FUCK about the Real World people!” Lost Driver Henry is mean.

We (eventually) checked into the Sheraton Four Points and crashed after a good hour of me relentlessly asking Henry what his favorite part of the show was. (No answer.) I can’t believe I got to see them, The Sound of Animals Fighting, right there in front of me. Oh my god, oh my god. What a great fucking night!

Hey, remember last week when I was all, “OMG we’re going to see Gary Numan“? Well, guess who almost didn’t get to see Gary Numan? OMG GREAT GUESS.

Henry and I got to the Altar Bar right after the doors opened and imagine my extreme delight when we gave the guy at Will Call Henry’s name and he was all, “NOPE. NO TICKETS FOR HENRY.” We used Henry’s credit card and Ticket Fly was like, “These tickets will be in Henry’s name, OK dummies?” So the guy asked if maybe I was confused and selected the mobile ticket instead of Will Call, and even though this did not sound at all like something I would ever do, I said, “Gee, you know what? I think that’s what I did” so then I had to get out of line and stand awkwardly next to some broad who was giving out free e-cigs while I frantically checked all 8 of my stupid email accounts on my phone for some non-existent cyber ticket, and you know what happens when I am totally panicked? I cannot think straight and I end up checking the same email address approximately 78 times because suddenly my surroundings are closing in on me and why is everyone staring?

Just totally awful, what a terrible way to start the night, with Henry standing there smirking at me because oh, look who is so irresponsible and lost our fucking tickets. Eventually, I found the email confirmation and shoved my phone at one of the guys who read it over and verified that my tickets were indeed WILL CALL and they should be in HENRY’S NAME. So then the other guy had to go to the office to see if they needed re-printed and right then, my friends Patty and Tim showed up and were like, “HEY GUYS” and I just grunted several intelligible syllables in response because I couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that I was going to punch a bitch if they tried to deny me entrance. The dumb ticket guy came back and said, “What’s YOUR name?” so I told him AND LO AND BEHOLD, the fucking tickets were there in my name but literally none of us had the bright idea to check for that from the get-go.

That was a real nail biter, wasn’t it blog readers? Is anyone still reading?

Meanwhile, Henry’s spirit was crushed as he realized that he was not going to get out of this show after all. And then he had the audacity to bitch because there were so many old people there. That man is never happy.

He did seem happy to see Patty and Tim, though, considering the only people he ever sees at concerts are kids that are friends with his sons, Blake and Robbie, or security guards that he recognizes from other shows. We talked to them for a little bit before the show started. I was really excited because a lady who works in the The Law Firm mail room was there as well, which took me by surprise because (STEREOTYPE ALERT) I never would have pegged her for a Gary Numan fan. Maybe more toward James Ingram.

Because James Ingram is always on the tip of my tongue.

I expressed my happy shock to Patty, who told me that she had also seen this co-worker at a Damned show in 2003! Newfound respect for the mailroom lady now. My whole department is obsessed with her because she walks around at exactly 5:04 every day and moans, “Mmmmm-lasssst mail.” She’s made it into an art form and I’m in awe. I even got Barb to ask her to reverse directions on April Fool’s Day one year just to fuck with one of our since-departed co-workers, who was so obsessed with her that he once steathily chased her around the department in an effort to hear her cries of “Last Mail” in all four quadrants:

SHE RULES.

Even more now that I know she likes good music! Whaddup, Last Mail? Come sit at my lunch table.

After bullshitting with Patty and Tim for a few minutes, I dragged Henry upstairs so that we could claim a good spot on the balcony, which is my favorite place at the Altar Bar. Before the show started, I took some time indulging in one of my favorite activities: stalking people.

NO ONE IS SAFE AROUND ME, PATTY.

Just ask Henry.

Roman Remains opened, and I instantly fell in love. I don’t really keep up with this genre of music that much anymore, so it was all new to me and fuck if that dark bass line didn’t bring back fond memories of my short stint as a goth. Plus, the singer is a really hot Nordic-looking woman. It made me consider going back to the goth lifestyle, and coincidentally, Henry had just cleaned out my closet and found my old Morticia-styled stompy heels in the back, so he placed them suggestively at the front of my closet in case I wanted to wear them to work.

The second band was Big Black Delta. They had their moments but I was mostly bored. I can only watch some guy push buttons and then dance around for so long.

But then finally, after a long, dramatic intro, Gary Numan finally came out and I was like “OMGGGG” like a little bitch because, my god, what a fucking icon.

ADAM LAMBERT WISHES!!

Henry’s dumb hands.

The only downside was when a man and his much-younger girlfriend (basically, a way more annoying version of me and Henry) squeezed their way in between me and the guy next to me at the balcony, which is fine, but how about you STFU and enjoy the fucking music instead of screaming everyday conversations to each other whole fucking time? That is probably my biggest pet peeve ever at older people concerts. Yes, a good bit of the people are actually there because they’re fans and genuinely love the music, but there are always those motherfuckers who are like, “Hey, let’s spend $60 on tickets and just go and drink and act like motherfuckers.” HERE’S AN IDEA: GO TO A BAR AND PLAY THE JUKEBOX INSTEAD. FUCK. And the girl part of the duo stunk like b.o. and a head shop.

They would walk away every now and then and I would rejoice. But then, when the intro to “Cars” started, the guy shoved his way back in and started thrusting his phone out over the balcony, so I was like, “OK fine, I get it. You want to get an Instavid of Gary Numan singing ‘Cars.’ That’s understandable.” But no! No! He was just taking pictures. OMG GARY NUMAN IS SINGING CARS QUICK TAKE A PICTURE. Seriously, get the fuck out of here, guy. Eventually, I just made Henry switch places with me because I couldn’t hold my breath any longer.

Meanwhile, Henry was too busy gawking at all the aging Goth Queens in all of their latex-and-exposed-midriff glory. It made me laugh because from the neck up they were 100% “middle-aged professional” but the rest of them was “night at the Batcave.” I  mean, at least do something with your Sally Wiggin hair if you’re going to sausage your body into a musty pair of bondage pants.

This is not my video, but she must have been standing only a few people away from me. So thank you, Girl, for posting this on YouTube because it was one of my favorite songs of the night, OMG I love you Gary Numan. Even though you didn’t play Marcy’s jam “She’s Got Claws.” :(

————

Henry’s review:

It was good and I got to drink some beers. The guy behind me was dancing the whole time and kept bumping into me. I think he was gay. I mean, I don’t care, I’m just saying.

I’m working 11:00am-6:30pm today instead of my usual 1:30pm-9:00pm (ugh, that shift) because Henry and I are going to see Gary Numan tonight at the Altar Bar and I am practically scratching my skin off in anticipation. I’ve been at work for about 30 minutes and have had about 17 variations of this conversation because my co-workers get freaked out when they see me in the AM:

Them: WHY ARE YOU HERE.

Me: Because I’m leaving at 6:30 today.

Them: WHY.

Me: Because Henry and I are going to see Gary Numan.

Them: WHO.

Me: Sigh. The guy who sang that 80s song “Cars.”

Some of them: OH THAT GUY.

Others: WHO.

But it’s pretty major that for once, most people here actually know who I’m going to see! Unless they’re just doing the smile and nod thing.

Anyway, the Gary Numan I like most is the stuff that came later, and the Exile album is my favorite of all time, so if he plays at least one song from that, I will be 100% content and might even put my head on Henry’s shoulder, who really does not want to go tonight and I almost ended up buying just one ticket, but then a song from Gary Numan’s new album was on an episode of Pretty Little Liars a few weeks ago and suddenly Henry was all in.

In other work news, I took a few minutes away from writing this blog post to visit my office-neighbor Patrick and fawn over a picture of him and his girlfriend, when suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nate wheel up to the door of Patrick’s office-thing and I jumped back because I thought he was in a wheelchair, but it was only just a wheeled chair.

I was all at once frightened and excited, and Nate said he wouldn’t be adverse to me pushing him around the office.

This is really turning out to be quite an excellent day.

I know, a thousand trillion pictures of Marcy, nothing new. But she’s my babe and I wanted to share.

****

I’m listening to Black Lab on Spotify and suddenly it’s 1998, Marcy is a kitten and I’m sun-tanning on my porch with Crisco because I can’t find my tanning oil. But the important question here is: why did I even have Crisco in my apartment to begin with? I only used the stove once and it was to make Spaghetti-O’s with Janna and then we left my apartment for an hour while it was cooking because it’s easy to forget you’re cooking food in a pot in a townhouse with literally one giant open room.

Oh, to be 18 again, not caring about skin cancer or turning townhomes into tinder.

This song recalls a time when my closet may have contained quite a bit of crushed velvet. I still love it so much.

The song. And crushed velvet.

Thinking about calling off work and finding a foggy forest to run in.

Every now and again, Henry will mention this one broad from the corporate office of his dumb juice job. She’s an admin assistant, I guess, so sometimes Henry will have to talk to her about invoices or other office-y bullshit (and probably things of a SEXUAL NATURE as well, knowing Henry). And he’ll off-handedly say something like, “I had to talk to Shanice today—-” and then I stop listening to the rest because all I hear in my head is “Do doo do do doo doodle doo” and I start laughing so hard because SHANICE. And then Henry is like WHAT.

This has been going on for years. Literally—years.

And then yesterday, Henry was taking me to work when one of his little work palsies called him and Henry was all, “I don’t know, you’ll have to call Shanice—” in his Official Work Tone and my cheeks were near-bursting as I tried to swallow back the laugh lava, but finally I erupted in a hysterical wheeze, “DOES SHE LOVE YOUR SMILE?!” He was still talking on the phone, so I just kept repeating it and laughing even harder.

Henry did that thing he does where he curls up one side of his lip and silently shoots me judgmental daggers from behind his serial killer eyeglasses. When he ended his phone call, I was still giggling like a 12-year-old.

“Please make that her ring tone,” I cried.

“Make WHAT WHOSE ring tone?” he asked, mostly in disgust, but I also detected the tiniest slice of curiosity.

“‘I Love Your Smile’! Make it Shanice’s ring tone!” I yelled incredulously. I mean, duh.

And here is where I learned that after 8 years of my “Does she love your smile!?” jokes, Henry had no idea that Shanice was a singer in the 90s who enjoyed relative success with her R&B jam “I Love Your Smile.”

“Who WOULD know that?!” he cried in defense after I explained it to him. So then of course I had to find the song and play it for him on my phone. It triggered approximately zero memory for him, probably because that was back when he was too busy being the Every Parent while his Ginger Nightmare stepped out with all of the men (and sometimes women) and sorry, but he didn’t have time to know what songs the urban radio station was spinning back then. And then I played one of her slow jams (TURN OFF THE LIGHTS, duh) and he told me, and I quote, “Get away from me.” So, what, I guess we’re not shadow-dancing to Shanice at our Never Happenin’ Wedding?

And then somehow I started playing songs from the Boomerang soundtrack (the Toni Braxton/Babyface duet “Give You My Heart” amirite?!)  and Henry was about ready to roll me out of the passenger door by the time we got to The Law Firm, probably because I was getting a little out of control (my version of car dancing involves miming the act of face-punching the driver).

Considering that Emarosa is done recording their new album and have already announced tour dates, it’s safe to say that I won’t be jinxing anything by posting this video of their new singer’s old band, Squid the Whale. When it first leaked that Bradley Walden was going to FINALLY fill the spot that Jonny Craig left in…2011—has it really been that long since Emarosa was royally fucked?

—I was so fucking excited but also incredibly wary because rumors are always flying when it comes to this shit. But ironically, it was Jonny Craig himself who let it slip that Bradley was taking the reins as the new Emarosa frontman.

You guys. Bradley is an incredible vocalist and my mind has been spinning out with a million ideas of how he is going to sound with Emarosa behind him. I LOVE EMAROSA SO MUCH IT HURTS, so I have so much faith in them, and the fact that this upcoming album (which Rise Records keeps teasing us about on Facebook, those fuckers) is going to be magnificent, a fucking diamond in the post-hardcore rough.

Bradley’s tone reminds me a little of Lorene Drive-era Daniel Murillo and Matt Geise of Lower Definition, so I’m on board. I am so much on the fucking board. I MIGHT actually have a heart attack when I get to hear it for the first time.

Be prepared to send a medic to my house.

In related news, Chiodos released another new song yesterday and I sat at my desk crying and then texted Henry about it, begging him to care.

His response? “Lol.”

It’s not easy being a 34-year-old scene kid.

ETA: Henry just told me he doesn’t like Bradley Walden. Probably because he feels threatened already.

Today, I’m sharing this song with you in memory of a very special boy. Whether it’s your cup of tea or not, maybe listen to it anyway, because you never know—it might make someone up above smile.

And also? Tell someone that they matter. Because, you just never know. xo.

Saw this list of 21 Songs To Help You Wake Up From Those Morning Snooze Marathons
circulating around this morning and while I’m mostly nodding in agreement, I can’t help but think they REALLY dropped the ball by not including this seminal Was Not Was hit:

(Yes, this is totally my current rise & shine go-to. WHAT’S YOURS?)

I was at work last night when Chiodos sent out an email with a video for a song off their upcoming album. I listened to it immediately and it was the summer of 2007 again (in all the best ways) and, please don’t think I’m turning soft and overly-sentimental, but I swear it felt like I was being put back together. ESPECIALLY WHEN CRAIG OWENS SCREAMS.

I actually loved their last album, the one with Brandon Bolmer. I will love Chiodos no matter how they have at the helm, but to have Craig back with them, oh you guys. I am so stoked to buy this album!

After work, I made Henry listen to it. “I started crying when I first listened to it,” I confided in him.

“Why?” he sighed, used to this by now.

“BECAUSE IT’S JUST SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOD,” my inner teenager wailed. And it was just what I needed, too. It makes me want to start doing the painting/short story thing I used to do what seems like another lifetime ago. I guess it really was another lifetime ago. My job has really snuffed out whatever iota of creativity I once had. Oh, Catch-22, you fucking hairy cocksucker, you.

You’ve broken everything I love and I can’t wait to be myself again.

— Yes. This. SO MUCH OF THIS RIGHT HERE.

In related news, remember when Henry the Miser wouldn’t buy me a Chiodos hoodie so I had to make my own?

Chooch had his first lesson with his punk rock piano teacher this morning and it went really well, actually! We had been trying to find him a teacher for awhile now but no one would respond to us. Then Henry found this girl Cheryl’s ad on Craiglist and she said she’s played in various local punk bands and has a very alternative approach to teaching piano so I knew immediately she was the one.

And she is awesome. Everything I imagined! Plus she’s patient and Chooch seemed very comfortable around her (though he did giggle a lot).

I can’t wait to steal her from Chooch.

She asked him if there were any songs he really wanted to learn to play and he blurted out “Silent Night.” Henry and I looked at each, raising our eyebrows in a “WTF, since when?” manner. Cheryl was just like, “Oh. OK. We can learn that one eventually!”

Anyway, the main focus of today’s inaugural lesson was for her to gauge which style and approach would be best for him, and she said she was surprised at how fast he was picking up the basics (aside from me playing clarinet in middle school, none of us are musically inclined, so Henry and I were just as surprised; I was actually preparing for him to bomb). Apparently, she thinks Chooch has the ability to play music by ear.

I had no clue.

He started fiddling with his keyboard as soon as we came home and then asked, “What is Silent Night, anyway?”

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

*(Bradley Bell plays keyboard in Chiodos, for those who aren’t immersed in the scene.)

I don’t care if you don’t like this band, this video is fucking fantastic and should be viewed by all, even the Mexican milkmaid you’ve got stuffed in that trunk at the foot of your bed. WE ALL KNOW ABOUT HER.