when the easy gets so hard...

I don't miss the girls.

That much is for sure.

Maybe it's everything else, everything else except the gals because they just didn't seem to flock to the drummer the way you hoped they would- everything else besides the ladies that makes me miss being in a band. All that shit that makes me scour Craigslist every other day, dodging the weirdos and their keyboards in Mom's basement and the beer rockers out in the counties, eager to just drink a case before going home to the wife & kids. Goddamn it, like those sobbing bastards on ESPN miss purity in baseball, I miss the purity of rock n roll. And just like Pete and Buster and the rest of those 2 seamer dorks trotting up and down the foul line, it's even more heart-breaking because you know that time has passed and while it was a hell of a barnburner, we're all better off moving on and shit, we all know it.

We all do.

Even Sunglasses down there on Yawkey Way.

"You guys know me."

You know what I know on a Friday night at the tail end of f'n July- I can't trust baseball, some bills won't be paid when they should, and all the right gals might always be wrong. Damn it, that's some shit odds. It was always one of the perks of playing in a band- avoiding the solo drunk pity parties or the "I don't think I should be here" shindigs. The band provided a release in so many, many, many ways. Not so much as in you ceased to exist, but maybe close enough to the point where your bar tabs poofed away and your dog was incredibly well-behaved.

When Sidecar played the last show with Ryno on drums, I don't remember what it was that I was planning on missing. Again, it wasn't the ladies. Nope. Because Pickles never saw me play and shit I thought the world would stop moving if she didn't answer the door. It wasn't a way to meet girls and it wasn't an avenue of popularity. Maybe there are some assholes in sunny Portland, living a dream I could of, but I'm happy I'm not. I'm happy I miss the little itty bitty bullshit and not the tweens and the false hope.

Pete, I don't care what you do- you still owe me money.

See? That bitterness is a raw emotion that could only be caused by doing something that you love. I loved playing music and as the years pass, I realize I loved the writing, the building, the bullshit, the reactions, and the good times. Years pass and things become specific. Years pass and suddenly the past makes so much sense.'

But in the end, I don't think anything we did in the past is going to help us in the future- whether it be mistakes, events, shit storms or taco fests. We're on our own deep in Fishtown on a Friday night and we have no one to look upon but ourselves.

Rock n Roll didn't teach me that and sadly, neither did Saved by the Bell.

But The Boss got me through Uncle John's death and who knows what Brit pop will do.

Look out for those thunderstorms, babe.

I can't say I miss you, but I do regret feeling this way.

Goodnight.