Tracking The Dog

Sometimes, it's hard for me to believe that AP is 23 years old. How many slabs of vinyl and aluminum, gigs, sleepless nights, drunken adventures, burned bridges and long-term friendships can one pack into that timeframe? Has it really been 20 years since I first called AP CEO Mike Shea at the phone number he printed in the masthead of AP #4? Has it really been 18 years since Kyrck87 saw me facedown in a pool of recycled Margaritas in an alley located in a bad neighborhood of our nation's capitol? (Okay, he probably saw it way after the fact on a major-label-distributed videotape, but still...) Hard to believe that 13 years have gone by since that dude from Everclear wanted to kick my ass at our 10th Anniversary party for calling his band "one-hit wonders." (I certainly deserved that one.) A mere five years since the members of My Chemical Romance looked positively terrified to walk into my office for the first time. And it was exactly a year ago this month when Joel Madden got the word "Massengil" tattooed on his forehead. (I think I might be projecting on that one, though.)

I need some more significant events to file in my balding memory bank. So if you don't have the power to create vibrant music (or at the very least, reunite Headwound City to play my birthday party in September), please support people who can. Buy a CD by that no-wave band with the creepy female lead singer who kicked you in the groin at that basement show or drive past the Hinder show and flip off  the people waiting in line to get in. Alt-rock culture is like high school phys-ed class; showing up is 9/10th your grade.