Last One to Die.

Nine men slept over last night, better known as Static Radio NJ and No Harm Done. I really enjoy playing band host for a night; it's a great way to hear some stories and guarantee yourself a place to stay where ever they happen to live. This is a violable resource for me; if I could spend my life touring, I very much would.

The thing I always love about bands staying over is just how good they are at arranging their sleeping bags. It's body tetris, and the good ones have it down to art. The good ones also can have their sleeping bags out, be changed, and asleep in 5 minutes flat. The really good ones don't even bother to change or with sleeping bags.

I had a good day yesterday, between my house guests and a new Rancid album. I'm sure everyone will hate it and that's fine with me. I'm glad my first listen was by myself because I'm sure if anyone was in the car with me, they would be LOLing over how dumb of a fan girl I am for months. Track One: As soon as I hear Tim's voice, tears start. Track Two: Matt Freeman's bass line makes me scream. Track Three: SKAAAA. Complete laughing fit. Track Nine: Straight COUNTRY song about Tim' brother coming back from the Iraq War. I coulda died happy in my car, right there.

There's a few songs on there about Iraq and they're almost conservative, talking about how "the bravest kids I know are the the ones that got to go fighting over there". There's a lot of punk rock bands that write a lot of punk rock songs that sound a lot like Anti-Flag about how horrible the war is, but I'm much more appreciative of bands that add a little bit more than the "Fuck You" to a protest song. Rancid's always been good at that. There's a genuine remorse in what they say about Iraq, not just anger. They've never gotten enough credit for being a political band. I think they might like it that way.

I read an article in the Los Angeles Times, which I can't find for the life of me now, that called Rancid "heart warming". While it's an odd adjective for punk rock, I can't think of a truer phrase for this album. It's a complete pop record, comparable with an And Out Come the Wolves tempo. It's subtle at times, punches you in the face other times, surprises you, reminds you of better days, makes you hopeful for new ones. But above all, it's honest. I love it. But I would have loved it no matter what.

(End Rancid talk, you can start reading again.)

Tonight, I am going to see Up, tomorrow is $1 beer at the Oklahoma City Redhawks (they play the Isotopes all the time) game and Friday I'm headed to an art show. Somewhere in there, I really should find a job. I'm thinking about applying at vet clinics again. While, dang, working at those places is some grossness, it's good, active and rewarding work.

Have I ever mentioned that I live with this painting? It's a good five feet long, by the way. It's sort of like living with Kenneth again. It keeps me safe while I sleep.

Such a lovely place.

This pick was not nearly as magical as the last, but it's only further proof that I'm destined for those little guys.

I went to the show with Marky and Tom and Tom harassed the Sunshine stage staff until they not only gave him that pick which was lying on the ground, but also a set list that was under Tim's Gretch. The stage staff was all, "Dude, I am not touching that guitar!" but I guess Tom used his republican powers to convince the guy to do it. The pick originally went to Marky and Marky gave me the set list, but I sheepishly asked for a trade. Because this is DESTINY. Accept it or be destroyed. I dare any of you kids to try an snag a Tim Armstrong pick at an Albuquerque. JUST TRY IT.

Yesterday sucked because some jerk in a Blazer decided to run over Bruce. AND NOT STOP to see if he was okay. He's okay, he's a trooper. Pretty scared and I sure don't blame him. He's got a cut on his back leg but it doesn't look like anything's broken.

But, happy 'Merica day, y'all. I plan on celebrating by cleaning house and watching Talladega Nights.

Laughing away sunburn.

In Ben Fold’s iTunes originals series, he does an Elliot Smith cover and before he plays it, he says a little bit about Elliot Smith, what a loss his death was and so on. But Ben also says one of the most profound things Elliot ever told him was “If you grow up with yelling in your house, the last thing you want to do is make records of yelling.” Ben goes on to talk about how this little rule might sum up what’s so wrong with modern rock music: “yelling as recreation”.

But, that quote made me think a lot about punk rock in general, not modern rock. There’s just as much yelling, so why are so many drawn to it, in this day and age of 60% divorce rate? Because it really does that, it draws you in. You remember it. You were there. That feeling of complete curiosity, but total knowledge at the same time. Because, if only for 5 minutes, your adolescent self found a comfort zone.

Maybe they yell because no one else is. Maybe it's about what isn't said in your house growing up.

I’ve always considered my punk rock discovery as particularly unique because of being from Raton. In larger cities, I would assume it would be easier. Lots more access to CDs, knowledge, locals shows, but in Raton, It was a special breed. But also isolated. Hardly anyone came in from the outside to disturb what me and my friends deemed “punk enough”. We evolved on our own, made it our own. Nothing was outlawed; skateboards, ska, metal, pop... Matt Floyd, the man who got me into Rancid, was a cheerleader in high school.

Most of the time when me and Matt hung out, the first thing he would do was get into my car and remove whatever CD I was listening to, no matter what it was, and play something he wanted to hear. Then, we'd spend an hour or so circling the streets of Raton, back and forth, back and forth, talking about music and whatever girl he had his eye on. And then one day, he left his copy of "...And Out Come the Wolves" in my CD player. Normally, as soon as his CD left my player, I put mine back in. But this time, I kept it in. I heard it, it was there, and I'll always remember it. I went home and used my fantastic dial-up connection to order every one of their albums on interpunk.com.


And ever since then, they've been it for me. No, they're not the most prolific or complicated of bands. Some of their songs could even pass as pop. But I have always found them to be honest. And most importantly, I found them. And they've been there for everything. Leaving Raton, starting college, difficult breakups, boys who never worked out, my parent's divorce, my dad's re-marriage, graduating college, and most recently, the fire at the bar and Annie. When I left town for a few days after Annie died, the first thing on my iPod was my "Down and Out Rancid" mix.

The first time I saw them live was at Warped Tour in 2001 in Denver. It was pouring rain. The interweb tells me Denver got an inch and a half of rain that day, and I'd say most of it fell during Rancid's set. I spent their set hiding under a pizza box with my friend Winnie.

I saw them a few more times at Warped Tour, which are really just teaser sets, since they only get half an hour. The first time I saw them in Albuquerque was in December of 2003. They played with Tiger Army and I went with Marky and Andy. It's important to note that I have always been a Tim person. I think there are Tim-Rancid fans, and Lars-Rancid fans. I have always been and will always be a Tim fan. My blog from that day: "Rancid kicked. Me in my face. With a damn smile. I ended up in the front row, dead center, staring at Tim's glowing body thier whole set. I almost dies from being smashed, but as I was so grandly reminded, when the music hits, I feel no pain at all.

The pain totally paid off. Not only did I get what I believe to be the best view of the show, but Tim looked directly at me and smiled. It was the best thing ever. No, the best thing ever is that he gave Mark his pick and Mark gave it to me. So, now, I have Tim's pic in my greedy little hands. Weee!

Me and Tim will run away and fall in love very soon I'm sure."


Thus begins the story of the orange guitar pick, my constant companion for the next 2 years. I never, ever took it off until I did my chest project. I started wearing it as a bracelet and somewhere in the next few days, I lost it. Heartbroken is the choice word, but I tried to not to think about it and pretended that it was just somewhere lost in my room.

But somehow, another two years later, of all the hands that reached out to touch Tim Armstrong looked straight at me, grabbed my hand, and slid another orange guitar pic into it. He pointed and smiled at me, and ran backstage.

At that point in my life, everything was changing. And that specific night, I was running on fumes, I hadn't slept more than an hour in 3 days, I had just come back from camping. So, I just completely lost it. I tell everyone I was like a 15 year old girl at a N*Sync show.


I really don't need to explain. I know everyone reading this has that, had it, knows exactly where I'm coming from. Tonight I'll be there again, screaming lyrics and fighting for air. And hoping for another orange guitar pick.

Fact can be arranged.

I find myself in familiar places lately. I let myself get away with things that would have only happened four years ago. My current state would never agree to it. I'm putting myself in environments of comfort, as opposed to forcing myself to change. It's not nearly as big of a deal as that sounds, I'm just sort of enjoying letting myself be a confused 20 year old again, listening to the same old Jimmy Eat World song over and over again, reading back blogs from when that song was still fresh. It's no secret I've got some major issues with Cat current life placement, most of those issues I haven't really figured out how to combat. But recently, it's been easy to let myself forget about them.

But more than that, the time period I've found myself indulging in wasn't exactly prime form for me, either. Maybe it's because I was there, I did it, succeeded, made it out a better person, that I makes being there so rewarding, so easy. Or maybe I never really made it out and letting myself dive back into it is all just a grand distraction.

I know that doesn't make much sense... trust me I know. I guess the huge question is, when's the right time to leave, to move on?

Hey, remember when we voted George W. Bush to be the president twice? I guess all things really are possible in a free society.

I really cannot express just how excited I am for Rancid. Watching a band that you truly love, just completely and totally, is hands down, the most satisfying feeling in my life. I just cannot stop smiling when I think about it, like this beckon of hope and light on the horizon. And to think, first listens to NEW material. My only disapointment is that the Aggrolites will be playing all dates of Warped Tour, so any chance of hearing Tim Armstrong solo is next to nothing.

Plans to go to New York for 5 nights of Rancid are coming along, even though 2 shows are already sold out. This is what eBay is for. Time off from work has been secured.


I'm sure everyone who reads this already knows about Geeks Who Drink, but just in case you don't, it rules. It's really kind of cute the way I play on a team, that's more or less exactly the same every week at the same place. Like it's tournament basketball or something. But I really do look forward to it every week, it's a great way to spend a few hours. And I get to learn all kinds of things I never really needed to know. It makes you a fantastic dinner party guest. One key team member will be missing this week, as Tall, Awkward Boyfriend is in Arizona taking care of some grandma stuff til Sunday. Whatever shall I do with my lunch breaks?!?

Today is dragging. I tended bar last night in the El Rey and despite still getting 7 hours of sleep, I'm still completely drained. The thing about bartending in the El Rey is nothing is built in, no bar guns. So, all mixers live in cans and bottles, it's a lot to carry. I took down that bar in record time last night, but it left me exhausted.