Sunday, April 15, 2007

Rough Combo

So, usually I think the interweb is one of the best things evar. I don't really know how I'd live without it, and I really can't force my memory to comprehend ye olde dayes of Tandy, dot matrix printers and 8-bit video games. The Revolution will not be televised, but I know the Contra Mantra code that will be broadcast on all frequencies and channels to set it off, and it will be OK because it will give me 30 lives, endless continues and my red flannel shirt back. But I digress...

I know such days existed, there are pictures of me from back then, so it must be true. It is comprehending those days that is difficult.

How-%@#!ing-ever, comprehending the days lived since we started archiving information on the internet is easier. Sometimes too easy, if one were to ask my humble opinion.

How do I know this? Because I was in a band throughout 2004 and 2005 that did some serious damage to livers and eardrums in the Southern Coastal regions of Georgia. Many legendary nights were lived, many personal epics were played out, and I had a chance to shed some of my usual goofiness and look cool for a change.

But...because whiskey is a hell of a drug, because I was not the photographer, because a certain lead guitarist has no idea what looks cool on the internet, and because this blog is now over two years old (and I didn't even notice), today I ran across this picture on another website.



This band, which played honkey tonks, Brantley County weddings, a low down and dirty but oh, so glorious Island City tourist trap and in a swamp near the Altamaha River; this band which almost started three beautiful riots of the yearning rock and roll faithful - once in response to the emergence of plastic beads purchased in New Orleans; this band, which had women using microphone stands for pole dancing;...this band, only has online pictures from when we played the drummer's sister's 50th birthday party.

The pictures exist, it must be true.

This physical evidence is so glaringly incongruous to the stories I have told, I feel I am forced to share the photo in the interests of full disclosure. One day, I will be telling stories to younglings about how, back in the day, I was in an awesome rock band that did all these awesome things, and the brother will emerge with this picture, printed straight from the hallowed halls of archivia and claim "oh yeah, don't he look soooo cool. 50th birthday parties get sooo out of hand." I can even hear his tone of voice. I know he will do this. Asshole. This is a preemptive strike.

12 comments:

Leigh C. said...

Lovin' the headgear...

Is this 'cause all those women dissed you at the wedding? Yeesh...

liberalandproud said...

I especially like the way you rock the white man's overbite. Classic.

Which Island City tourist trap? I'm pretty sure I was in Chicago and missed this glorious musical revolution.

Cousin Pat from Georgia said...

Thanks, that headgear is the only redeeming value of the picture. The overbite means it was a particularly complicated bassline, but I can't, for the life of me, figure out which one it was. It ain't like 'Sweet Home Alabama' requires a rocket surgeon on bass.

We usually played at the Sand Trap, a place held in such high esteem that it was absolute hell getting any of our local friends to come all the way down the stairs from Rafters to see us play. So for a long time, Island City had a locals only stage and a tourists only stage within 100 feet of each other. Kinda cosmopolitan, really, we could have almost called it a 'scene.'

liberalandproud said...

I remember when the Island Rock Cafe was there. It's called Iguana's now. The more things change . . .

patsbrother said...

First, I would never have seen this picture - let alone known you were playing at a 50th birthday party - had you not brought this up. That information is duly noted.

And second, I suspect that I will continue to use my own memory to "suggest" your assertions are incorrect, and not documentary materials. For every lame picture of you there is one of me: 1) emaciated; 2) in drag; 3) drawn naked; 4) using some prop indecently; 5) generally looking stupid; or 6) dressed like Cap'n Hook or a genie. Also, unless and until I find the video that waivers when you hit the high note in Peter Pan (which would trump all, I swear) I likely will not resort to videographic evidence of you acting retarded because I was in far more plays and there are far more videos of me acting (retarded).

I'm not entirely sure why I just supplied you with all that you may ever need to embarass me. However, I figure that I, too, am thoroughly accustomed to embarassment and - hey - it was a nice break from the law.

patsbrother said...

In other news, I still greatly dislike the new blogger.

Leigh C. said...

Lordy, coozan, your bro has it in for Blogger big time.

I suggest you take the pressure off Blogger's commenting interface, dig up pictures 1 thru 6, and hint that they will be posted at the burrito stand for everyone's viewing pleasure.

Cousin Pat from Georgia said...

Luckily, some pictures like the ones he described were also on display at the wedding last Saturday. That high school photo album was nothing if not comprehensive.

Including the djinni picture: my brother, bare chested, wearing nothing but sheer flowing pastel polyester. And a turban. A proud moment, indeed.

patsbrother said...

Though I lack sufficient familiarlity with fabrics to say whether the costume was polyester, I feel comfortable stating that gold does not a pastel make.

(Unless of course my definition of pastel is completely off and I really know even less about the color scheme.)

patsbrother said...

And still, my hatred for the new blogger exceeds the fire of a thousand angry suns. It's a blog; it does not require maximum security clearance.

Leigh C. said...

Nice to see that the good writing gene runs in the family...

Here's a good insult for Blogger the next time you encounter the security measures, Pat's Brother: may your IT department grow like onions with their heads in the ground!

liberalandproud said...

You two know they're doing Peter Pan again this summer. Again I say unto you: The more things change . . .