9 to 5 twice a day!

The alarm goes off at 6 a.m. After pounding the snooze button several times, I finally drag my carcass out of bed and get ready for work. Oh, joy. I can't wait to see what new level of stupidity management achieves today. You can always count on them to develop new and exciting advances in the field of stupidity.

Well, I made it all the way to lunch time and I am finally awake enough to start thinking about our gig tonight. It's time for me to create the set list for the show. We're playing at a new venue and nobody there will really be familiar with us. So, we'll probably play more cover tunes to get the crowd going. We'll start with a Ramones song, "The KKK Took My Baby Away." That is usually a crowd-pleaser and since it is fairly easy to play, it is a good song to get the band warmed up. It is always good to start with something that will grab the crowd's attention. From there, we will do another cover tune. How about we play a Misfits song? Yeah. From there, we will add in some original songs and then back to some cover tunes so the crowd can sing along. It's always fun when the crowd sings along. Especially when they get up on stage, grab a microphone and sing with us. I add some more originals, some more covers, more originals and then the big drunken finale, "Gimme Some Beer," "Six Pack," "Wasted" and "Too Drunk Too Fuck" to finish out the night.

It is 1 P.M. and lunch time is over. Back to the grind of staring at this computer screen for the next four hours. The rest of the day goes by rather quickly while visions of inebriation and music fill my head. I am certain that the quality of my work was less than stellar, but some things are just more important than working for "da man."

Yippee. Typical 5 o'clock traffic greets me like a school-yard bully. After an hour-long battle, I arrive home. I have just enough to time to eat some dinner and watch an episode of The Simpsons before I have to pack up my gear and leave. Why did I have to be the one to buy a van? I could have stayed home an extra hour if I didn't have to drive all over creation picking up everyone else. After 30 minutes, I arrive at my first stop. I help the drummer load all of his gear into the van and then we head across town to pick up our favorite guitar player. After some minor rearrangements, the guitar player and his gear are comfortably placed inside the van and we're off.

By now, traffic has mellowed out and we set a good pace for reaching our destination in about 90 minutes. That should give us half an hour to get familiar with the place and meet the other bands before the first band plays. "What time do we play?" "Who are the other bands?" "What are they like?" "Where is this place?" I feel like Dad on the family vacation to Wally World. Being the bastard that I am, I enjoy answering these questions. "It's a vampire club and nobody can play before midnight." "Lesbian Erection, Burlap Jock Strap, and The Flaming Doo-Doo Balls." "They're all death-metal Morrissey tribute bands." and "It's right next to Bob's Country Bunker. The Good Ol' Blues Brothers Boys Band is playing there tonight."

After an hour and a half and two pit stops (one to get something to drink and one to tap a kidney), we finally arrive at the Stankwater Saloon in scenic Bumfuck, Egypt. The place next door isn't Bob's Country Bunker, but it's not far from it. The only vehicles in the parking lot are either pick-up trucks or old beat up Camaros. Thankful that we aren't playing at the tractor-pull next door, we climb out of the van and go inside to check the place out.

Once inside, we get a bit more comfortable. Many of the posters on the wall feature bands like Black Flag, Devo, Mega Smegma, and Groovie Ghoulies. There are only a few people in the place this early. We look around and find the owner. He tells us that we're playing last, but we can load our stuff in now and store it backstage. Since the guitar player's gear went in last, it comes out first. We all move it in and as soon as his gear is stowed, the guitar player heads off to the bar to start putting his liver to work. For some reason, the drummer and I tolerate this and unload the rest of the gear. It's time for a beer.

"What? You don't have Newcastle? Alright, what import beers do you have? Killian's isn't exactly an import. It's made by Coor's. Alright, gimme a Killian's." OK, this may sound like the scene from Spinal Tap where they complain about the deli tray meat not fitting on the bread. However, this is different. I'm paying for this brew, and I want to drink something that does not taste the same going in and coming out. Anyway, at least it's cheaper than Newcastle.

After a while, the first band starts to play. They're a decent band doing some good punk-influenced rock 'n' roll tunes. Their sound has a large Ramones influence. However, their use of urban slang terms, like "phat," "da bomb" and "dope" really annoys me. Maybe it is because I'm an old fart. I don't know. But I'm certain that if somebody like DMX or Busta Rhymes were to make up a word, Fred Durst or Kid Rock would start saying it and every suburban white kid that thought he had his finger on the pulse of what's cool would add it to their vocabulary. I would love to plant a few of my own buzzwords in the ear of these "influential" persons. I can imagine it now. A gang of teenagers walking down the street discussing our latest album, Who Cut The Cheese? and saying, "That Mikey Fiend is down with the moogenfribble, yo!"

The next two bands play as I run up a tab at the bar that should exceed that amount of money we'll earn tonight. Oh well, I'd stop drinking, but I've always heard that quitters never win and winners never quit. I can't argue with that logic. Besides, it'll help loosen me up to play. Yeah, right. At least I won't care too much about how sloppy our playing is because I'm drunk.

The band that just got off the stage must have been called the Shoe Gazers. All they did was stare at their own feet while they played their set. Now that's what I call entertainment. We hit the stage and actually do a good job of putting on a show. The music is good, we're in a groove and the crowd seems to like the original tunes as much as the cover songs. During the big drunken finale, several people climb up on stage and sing the songs with us. It's a blast.

We get paid, pack up our gear and head for home. The parking lot next door is completely empty by the time we get out. That's fine by me. I'd rather not get into it with some drunken redneck at this point. I'm tired and I want to go home. After dropping the other guys off and unloading their equipment, I make it home around 5 o'clock in the morning. I'm tired and already regretting the hangover I will have tomorrow. If it were a weeknight, I'd be turning off the alarm in an hour to go back to work. It's like having two jobs, one that pays my bills and one that is more work, more frustrating, yet ultimately, more rewarding. But maybe, just maybe, when I'm touring the world and Metallica is our opening act, I'll get to hear the kids say that I'm down with the moogenfribble.

Mikey Fiend