Street Shark's style.Rocking the loafers.
Amen.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Punk Rock Hootenanny
Sunday night my band the Chest Pains played a show at Chaz's Bull City Records in Durham. We played with Raleigh's Street Sharks (pictured), Richmond's Pink Razors and some other band that opened from Wisconsin.This shot pretty much sums up the night.
I fulfilled a life long dream of being in a band and having people sing along with you; we played of cover of Government Issue's "Hall OF Fame" [Joyride version] and had a good four or five people singing along during the chorus.
Being A Dad Is Cool
As much as raising kids can make you insane, it can be the most rewarding thing in your life.left: Spencer Brooks, 5 1/2, 45 lbs. likes sports, art and Thin Lizzy.
right: Cole Burdick, 2 1/2, 35lbs., likes sports, art and the Chest Pains.
Monday, January 16, 2006
ACC Junkie
The call came out of nowhere.
“I’m in,” I said without having to think twice.
“Okay, cool,” said my neighbor. “Meet me in ten minutes out front.”
“I’ll honk the horn,” he said.
Ten minutes later, right on time, the horn honked.
I slipped on my leather jacket, stuffed my wallet into my back pocket, topped off my head with a knit cap and walked out the door. “Good luck,” said my wife. “Thanks,” I said.
Once inside my neighbor’s car, I got the instructions: We were to go to the Shell gas station at the intersection of Route 54 and Interstate 40 and wait.
The wait was painstakingly long, both of us salivating at the prospect of what would soon be in our possession. My mouth was dry.
“You want anything?” he said as he got out and purchased dry goods from the mini mart inside the gas station.
“Water,” I said.
He came back and we sat and waited in silence, a silence broken occasionally by the sound of my lips slurping water off the tip of my water bottle; a nervous tick.
“This sure is taking long,” said my neighbor.
“It is,” I said back.
I’ve know this guy sitting next to me since I was 13-years-old. Yet suddenly we have nothing to say.
“Can I borrow your cell phone?” he asked breaking the blanket of silence. I handed it to him while disengaging the lock that blocks the phone from being inadvertently dialed when on your person. He dialed a number and asked for another. Then he dialed the second number.
“Hey,” he said.
I heard the garbled voice of someone on the other end of the phone.
“Yeah, it’s me. Where are you at?”
He hung up without a word and handed me the phone as a flash of headlights streaked across our windshield. He got out of his car. I heard the slap of a hand shakes and a “thank you” or two.
He slid back into the front seat, slamming his door in the process.
“We’re golden dude,” he said with a big sly smile on his face as he held out his hand revealing two tickets to the Carolina versus Davidson basketball game.
It’s like he just handed me the Holy Grail: in the ten years I have lived in the Triangle, this is only my second Carolina game.
I finished the last drop of water from my bottle, turned and said to him, “done.”
Then I threw my bottle on the floor board of his car.
“Done,” he said before bursting out in a maniacal cackle as he jammed his car into reverse.
“I’m in,” I said without having to think twice.
“Okay, cool,” said my neighbor. “Meet me in ten minutes out front.”
“I’ll honk the horn,” he said.
Ten minutes later, right on time, the horn honked.
I slipped on my leather jacket, stuffed my wallet into my back pocket, topped off my head with a knit cap and walked out the door. “Good luck,” said my wife. “Thanks,” I said.
Once inside my neighbor’s car, I got the instructions: We were to go to the Shell gas station at the intersection of Route 54 and Interstate 40 and wait.
The wait was painstakingly long, both of us salivating at the prospect of what would soon be in our possession. My mouth was dry.
“You want anything?” he said as he got out and purchased dry goods from the mini mart inside the gas station.
“Water,” I said.
He came back and we sat and waited in silence, a silence broken occasionally by the sound of my lips slurping water off the tip of my water bottle; a nervous tick.
“This sure is taking long,” said my neighbor.
“It is,” I said back.
I’ve know this guy sitting next to me since I was 13-years-old. Yet suddenly we have nothing to say.
“Can I borrow your cell phone?” he asked breaking the blanket of silence. I handed it to him while disengaging the lock that blocks the phone from being inadvertently dialed when on your person. He dialed a number and asked for another. Then he dialed the second number.
“Hey,” he said.
I heard the garbled voice of someone on the other end of the phone.
“Yeah, it’s me. Where are you at?”
He hung up without a word and handed me the phone as a flash of headlights streaked across our windshield. He got out of his car. I heard the slap of a hand shakes and a “thank you” or two.
He slid back into the front seat, slamming his door in the process.
“We’re golden dude,” he said with a big sly smile on his face as he held out his hand revealing two tickets to the Carolina versus Davidson basketball game.
It’s like he just handed me the Holy Grail: in the ten years I have lived in the Triangle, this is only my second Carolina game.
I finished the last drop of water from my bottle, turned and said to him, “done.”
Then I threw my bottle on the floor board of his car.
“Done,” he said before bursting out in a maniacal cackle as he jammed his car into reverse.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Monday, January 02, 2006
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Damaged II
What happens when your older brother rolls into town whom you haven't seen in a year and hasn't been to your digs in five years?Why you throw down the gauntlet and get wasted.
Here's to more good times in 2006.
Damaged
What happens when the best man at your wedding - who you haven't talked to in a good year because he's getting divorced - rolls into town for a surprise visit because his father lives in North Carolina... and he comes with his soon-to-be ex wife?Why you throw down the gauntlet and get wasted.
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