reminds me of the benefits for quarterbacks. these stories don't end well.
is it my imagination or has life, the world and everything becoome a movie of itself? where is the REAL THING?
a telethon for rockandroll; a president vacationing during wartime; protest mothers at the ranch nextdoor. the messiah of congress would like us to bring our war to paraguay for him so he can steel the water. it's like Dune meets Moonraker with a little Conversation, a big dose of Wrong is Right and a kick-ass fucking soundtrack.
the dead ramones will appreciate this.
so, johnson city -- how does this movie end? burt, what happens? where did the scene go? people still play music, why don't they want to play at your club? don't feel bad, you are in great company. Maybe a t-shirt would help.
cbgb's t-shirts always bugged me. don't feel bad if you wore one. i had plenty of clothes i wore just because they were crunchy. but why a shirt from a bar? why do so many damn tennesseans have Ron Jons shirts and stickers on their mini-SUVs? is it b/c there's a billboard every 5 minutes on the highways in Florida once you cross the state line? by going to the store and buying the shirt and wearing the shirt you're not saying you're a surfer. you live in tennessee for christsakes. that would be like me wearing a shirt that says i'm a tiny monkey.
i'm not a tiny monkey. i can wear that shirt everyday and i still won't be a tiny monkey.
wear the shirt. signal your ability to follow a message to ground zero and then take the message back with you. in a way it's like saying "hey, i follow directions quite well." i've had plenty of Ron Jon's shirts. it's open 24-hours, now, and for some reason that has come in handy. i'm a mark for late-night convenience. and i follow directions.
i don't want anyone to discourage support of ceebs, lets instead reflect on why the asking. no matter what a fan sees, clubs are nasty shitty places where good and bad people get fucked equally. clubs exist for as long as they can keep convincing people to come and play and people to come and watch people play, period. in other words, they exist at the whim of their labor and consumers. provide a nice place to play; treat people with respect; cultivate a worthwhile crowd/scene -- yer in bidness. oh, and you won't get rich doing it.
where do old scenes go?