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.