This Past Weekend

Before I get into the actual topic of this BLOG, may I say that it is currently approximately 37 (37!) degrees warmer than the deepest, flaming pit of Hell in my room. The furnace in my house hates me. It can get colder than a well digger's ass in my room sometimes (drafty windows and shit), so I turn up the heat by a cunt hair (yeah, I typed "the C-word," deal with it). Twenty minutes later...Hades. Being a rational person (heh), I turn the heat back down a fraction of a cunt hair (again with "The C-word," mouth like a longshoreman...) and moments later my room temperature goes down like a ten-dollar whore.

I don't actually mind it that much. It keeps me on my toes. I'm a big fan of variety. The problem is, it fucks with my guitars. Not The Modulus, mind you, for my bass is indestructible. I think it was carved from the Wood of The Cross that Jesus dangled from, thereby granting it Mystical Powers. Or something. The extreme temperature fluctuations do a number on my acoustic guitars (being built from, apparently, balsam wood), though. Both of my acoustics have recently split right down the front, creating some kind of blasphemous, misshapen Lumber Vagina (excellent band name, by the way). Damn cheap guitars...

Anyhow, on to other shit...

Friday night, Chump was scheduled to play at The Wreck Room in Wallington. I was looking forward to the gig since not only did we have an opening band (I forget their name, but it was an all-chick band, which rules), several bassists were (allegedly) coming to audition live on stage. This meant that besides only having to play two sets, depending on how many bass players showed up, I would probably spend more time at the bar (drinking Wild Turkey) than actually playing. Now, the only thing I love more than getting paid to play on a stage with a kick-ass band is being paid the same amount of money for doing nothing. Plus, I had taken a good nap after work (old people nap) and I was full of pep. And Monster Energy Drink.

So, I pull up to the venue to see that all the lights are out, and the Chump crew is standing outside, passing around a bottle of Yukon Jack (their unofficial drink). It turns out that The Wreck Room has no power. Every other building on the block has juice, but not The Wreck Room. Fuckshitpiss. We stood around drinking (hooray for drinking!) for about an hour before the owner of the venue declared it a loss. The guy had no idea why there was no power, and no one was coming to help fix it. Go JCP&L (or whichever random company is in charge of that shit-I don't know, I don't care)!

Gig cancelled. Girlfriend working late. Very little cash. What to do? WHAT TO DO?!?! It was then I remembered that QKF's own Big Daddy Den-Den was playing a gig at Connection's in Clifton (no, not Connexxion's in Boonton-that's a Gay Bar-queerbait) with Mark Rizzo from Soulfly. See, Dennis is a Guitar God, and used to give lessons to Mark. Mark went on to join El Nino (that's Spanish for "The Nino"), and then Soulfly, which is an offshoot of Sepulutura (I may have spelled that wrong-fuck off). If you're not familiar with any of these bands, you are not Metal.

Soulfly is going back out on tour next week, but Mark wanted to play a local gig, showcasing some of his "solo work." I think most of the songs were from one of his projects called "Committee of Thirteen," but, I may be mistaken. I never do my homework. Anyway, he knew he needed an awesome guitarist to help him out, and who better than the man who taught him guitar-Dennis? Who better? None. None more better ("Spinal Tap" reference-I do actually know Proper English, wankers).

This is getting wordy, and I have much more to type about, so allow me to cut to the chase. Connections was sold out. Jayson, Copolla, Jenn, Mike, Andrew, and several other friends were there. They were all surprised to see me, since I was supposed to have a gig. Dennis was so happy to see me, he bought me many drinks. Which was good, because I had no money.

The band was amazing. There were six members-Mark and Dennis on guitar, a bassist, drummer, singer, and a percussionist. I don't know any of the other guy's names (too much homework), but they were all excellent. The crowd was nuttier than squirrel shit, and the pit was nice and violent. Dennis and Mark kept switching between acoustic and electric guitar, and they both kicked ass. I was actually surprised at how many solos Mark gave to Dennis, I had figured Mark was going to want more of the spotlight, but he gave everyone in the band a chance to shine.

Den-Den played his ass off. I hardly ever get to watch him play without me being on stage with him (distracted with having to remember my basslines while jumping around like a freak), and that motherfucker is amazing. It's going to sound a bit "Emo," but I got a (teeny, tiny) bit choked up watching him. I was really proud of him. Oh shit, I'm gay.

Moving along...

Saturday night was a Hopper night with Rad Lass. We got hammered, hit a diner, came home and passed out. Too drunk to fuck. Sad, but the night itself was fun. The fucking was rescheduled...

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday...

Quick Kill Formula played at Don Hill's in NYC. Correction, QKF kicked the guts out of Don Hill's. We got there a bit late, and only caught a portion of the band before us. They were gay. They were competent musicians, and they jumped around a lot, but...gay. We had all been drinking steadily all the way into The City, and by the time we hit the stage, I was feeling no pain. That's how I like it. I was surprised that we actually played very well, considering the fact that we hadn't rehearsed in over a week. I was also surprised that the crowd was really into it. Several strangers came up to me after the set to tell me that they came out to see us specifically. That's really fucking cool. It's one thing for your friends or family to pay you compliments, but it's so rad when you have actual FANS who don't know you personally, they just come out to gigs because they dig your music.

At this point in the festivities, I was flying high. My band kicked ass, we had a great turnout, a solid mosh pit (Rad Lass and her hetero lifemate, Birdhouse, were dancing up a storm), and the drinks were abundant. Imagine my pleasant surprise when Rad Lass, with a gleam in her eye, asked me to surreptitiously join her in the Ladies' Room for some "quality time." By "quality time, " I mean FUCKING. Unfortunately, the bathroom was in the direct line of sight of the bartender, and he wasn't having it.

Luckily, inspiration struck, and I asked Dennis for the keys to his van so Rad Lass and I could go "have a shot of Jagermeister." He didn't realize that "have a shot of Jagermeister" actually meant "have drunken, violent sex with Rad Lass in the back of your van." Hee hee.

The van was cold (it's January, after all) so we started the engine to get some heat. We had a shot of Jager (I'm not a complete liar, after all), and proceeded to have frantic, dirty, hot-as-all-fuck sex in the van. The kind of sex where you don't even take your pants off all the way. The kind of sex where you bite and scratch each other with abandon. The kind of sex where you don't even care that you've slid towards the back of the van, and your partner is pressed uncomfortably up against the rear door. That rules.

The best part was, halfway through the proceedings, I noticed a few things. For one, when I started up the van to crank the heat, the Clutch tape I had brought along for the ride into The City was still in the cassette player (that's right, bughumpers-we rock it Old School with the cassettes). It was a tape of "Jam Room," one of favorite albums. Also, we were parked right outside of Don Hill's, but the rear windows of the van are tinted. This meant we could look outside and see random people out in front of the club, smoking cigarettes (friggin' non-smoking laws), but they couldn't see us. They had no idea that ten feet away from where they stood, Rad Lass and I were fucking like our lives depended on it. Hot. To top it off, every time I glanced up, I was reminded of the fact that we were in the middle of New York City.

Let's review:

Great gig in front of an appreciative crowd, serious bourbon buzz, cranking Clutch while having phenomenal sex with my hot-ass girlfriend mere meters away from an oblivious public in the back of a warm van deep in the heart of The Greatest City on Earth. Fuckin' A.

It was one of those moments that I will never forget. No matter what bullshit comes my way anytime soon, I can think back on that and smile.

My band rules.

My girlfriend is awesome.

Life is good.

http://www.losinfartos.homestead.com

http://www.quickkillformula.com

http://crackhousenj.tripod.com/

I know this was a long post, but I'm drunk, and felt like typing...

Thanks for reading this far.

Now, go away.

-Shawn