The TLP Network

No One and a Half: The Modest Ponytail

by on Feb.04, 2008, under Podcast

Scribed by Jason Firestone.

Under the radar I walk into the venue alone. With my hair tied behind my back. The modest ponytail. Someone told me the band playing tonight is good. But he likes Nickelback. Eww.

Eh, I’m here anyway.

No girlfriend, no job, it’s still days ’til the next band practice and nearly a week ’til my next show. No one here knows who I am. I don’t know anyone here. That girl sitting there has a nice ass. She’s turning around….

FUCK! She’s a HE!
I’m not gay, I’m not gay, I’m not gay….

Jesus Christ, this guy right here is FUCKED. UP. And it’s only 9. Please stop talking to me. You’re not a funny drunk, you just think you are. So stop repeating yourself. So stop repeating yourself. You sure beer is the only thing you’ve been drinking all… uh, day? Smells you found “2 Girls, 1 Cup” appetizing and decided to follow suit. And then drank 5 pitchers of Bud and accidentally drank your spit cup too.

The band starts playing and I nod. Wow, they’re actually pretty good. I sit in a chair with my arms folded and take mental “do this, do NOT do that” notes based on what the band is doing. Crowd interaction during songs: Do this. Taking shirt off mid-song to reveal a flabby, furry chest: DO NOT do this.

Man-titties are gross.

When the band is finished I rise up out of my dark corner to shake the bands hands and give them my honest feedback: mostly filled with my positive opinions of the show, but also mixed with some constructive criticism. They don’t appreciate my constructive criticism. Fuck them. Who am I? Just some stupid kid. The modest ponytail.

More bands play and most of them are painfully mediocre. The others are just okay. I guess that’s local music for ya. The gold is hard to find.

Shit, I forgot to call that girl back…

I start up a few conversations with some people I happen to find myself around. In the local music scene everyone is connected somehow. Wives and friends and cousins or whatever of bands I’ve played shows with. And it’s always the bands that are instantly forgettable to me. I’m not going to lie, I don’t remember your husband’s shitty band. Hey, it’s not my fault they suck. Of course, I don’t tell them that, but maybe this should be the day I start being an asshole.

But alas, ’tis not my place to judge. Who am I to voice my opinion? What power do I possess? I’m not on stage flailing around like a fish out of water. Or a mid-coitus monkey tweaked out on meth. Like, uh, usual? I think I’ve toned it down recently. Anyway, this is my time to be reserved. All my hair is wrapped up and thrown behind me in a modest ponytail.

Hmm, “buttcheeks” is a funny word.

Thank you, lady, for the compliment on my hair. Yes, ok, you and all your friends would pay top dollar to have the color hair I do. Thank you, I guess? No, you can’t have it. And no, I will not donate it to Locks of Love. It’s not that I’m a selfish prick or that people suffering from cancer shouldn’t have a full head of hair, it’s just that I wouldn’t torture poor weakened chemo patients with the daily task of detangling this fucking mess I display on my head. Will I get laid at the end of the night if I keep talking to you and letting you touch my hair? Wait, what?! You’re son is almost as old as me? That means you were, what, 8 when you had him?

So I leave at the end of the show. I met a few people. I found out about a few bands. Chances are I’ll play shows with them in the future. Ok. Could be worse. All in all a pretty good night. The modest ponytail has left the building.

But seriously, Nickelback really fucking sucks. I hate them so much.

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