It amazes and disgusts me, how difficult it is to travel to a foreign country. Not only is it difficult to get information out of any reliable sources, past the point of pulling teeth, but the costs and fees associated with it are (in my opinion) ridiculously high. Of course, I feel that comes from either a greedy government or way too many people / paid hours spent processing forms for a passport. I’m used to paying a pretty minimal fee for a form of identification, but I suppose that international travel really IS that big of a deal.

I sauntered on down to the Post Office yesterday, and was rather shocked — forgive my ignorance, I should say — to find the price of a new US passport to be at $82, not to mention that in order to get one in time for my January trip, I would need to pay another $90 for expedited shipping and processing. That stupefied me, I’ll be honest. Almost $200 extra for a trip to Canada? That’s nuts.

Well, a quick discussion with the Post Office passport lady confirmed that I needed one, and it was “too bad that I wasn’t flying in and out of the country before January 8th” since that was when this new policy went into effect, which forces people from the US travelling to Canada, Mexico, and a few notable areas to have a passport when they travel. The fun part associated with that was the fact that my trip was late enough to require a passport, and early enough that I would need to get it expedited. I had forgotten my birth certificate — call it a bad excuse, too — so I continued on my daily business, determined to research this more.

Upon a bit of research on the US Department Of State’s official website (specifically, the National Passport Information Center, or NPIC), I found out that January 23rd was the first day that this went into effect. Calling the main customer service line for them, as well as Air Canada, also confirmed this; the fun part came when I called United Airlines and got an Indian worker who had no idea what I was talking about, not to mention that all the remaining phone numbers for United are automated-service only, so I got no real answer on their end.

However, armed with confirmations from those two — the State department, and Air Canada — I went back to the Post Office. (Why? It’s not that I wanted the satisfaction of going “ha ha you’re dumb”, but I wanted to clarify that they were misinformed.) At that point, I was met with “Nope, it’s still January 8th, they are wrong.” Calling my following mood “minor frustruation” would be an understatement, so I called the NPIC again, and found two interesting tidbits: (1) the Post Office has their info screwed up, and (2) the number the Post Office gave me was indeed the NPIC, whom they said had the accurate info (and, ironically, they had just told me they — the NPIC — had their dates wrong).

It really comforts me that two of the biggest, government-oriented agencies have their information improperly sorted and constantly conflicting in matters which concern my citizenship and my wallet. Really, it does.

So next week, when I get my paycheck, I’m buying my ticket to Canada.

In my earlier blog, I wrote a post about the amazing difference between seeing a huge band at an arena vs. at a club show. In that case, the band was Tool; in the case of THIS post, it is Alice In Chains. I don’t fully count Konocti as an arena, but due to its vastness and how far back we were, it might as well have been. But the Warfield, as anyone who has ever been there knows, is a nice, small place — and unlike Konocti, does not have a huge array of seats for the main floor.

I’m going to get my one dissatisfaction about the show out of the way first: During the opening band’s set, I took out my camera to take a picture, and had barely moved when I had a staff member telling me to put it away. And why? “Band’s request.” Funnily enough, I had not heard of this from, well, anyone else who worked there. During AIC’s set, I was accosted about two more times by violent, screaming guards, telling me to put it away. And I also learned that VIP preveleges/autographs/band meets had been only available in online auctions, and the band was forcefully ignoring everyone else. What gives, guys?

Regardless, this was a million times better than the Konocti show — and if you read my blog on that, you might remember how much THAT blew me away. The opener, Hurt, was decent enough, but incurred the ire of the crowd by (1) not being AIC, and (2) sounding an awful lot like a weird Creed/Tantric hybrid, with some Nickelback in for good measure. However, they carried a jam-band aspect with them that made for a long set reminiscent of a My Morning Jacket record, so I enjoyed it (and definitely more than the idiot cover band at Konocti).

The wait between sets was enormous — almost as long as for The Mars Volta — but when the lights dropped, the roar of the crowd covered the music that played at first, for nearly a full minute. It wasn’t long before the latest incarnation of Alice In Chains — Mike Inez on bass, Sean Kinney on Drums, William Duvall on vocals, and of course Jerry Cantrell on guitar — walked onstage to a thunderous ovation. And that is about when things got out of control.

This show was probably the third example of a genuine mosh pit at a show, rather than pushing, shoving, crowdsurfing idiots (not that I put a higher intelligence quotient upon moshers, mind you). By genuine, I mean the people throwing themselves back and forth, fists flying, the ring around them shoving them (and innocent bystanders, sadly, as well) back into the fray. And this happened for almost EVERY SINGLE SONG. I appreciated the energy — hell, I got pretty jumpy — but I almost got yanked into it, and I don’t need to tack up TWO Warfield shows to losing glasses.

FIRST SET

1. Again
2. Bleed The Freak
3. Grind
4. It Ain’t Like That
5. Junkhead
6. Nutshell
7. Them Bones
8. Dam That River
9. Rain When I Die

Following the scorching 3-song medley of songs from “Dirt” that closed the first set, the band headed offstage. To explain this next part, the back of the stage had a large, ripped-in-way-too-many-places sheet that was used for distorted projections, as were the white sheets covering the amps and stacks. On the screen first appeared random, odd clips, and then finally the grinning face of Layne Staley, the original singer of Alice In Chains. What followed was a several-long-minutes tribute to the late singer, showing probably about a hundred clips or photos of him in action when he was still alive. It was a very gorgeous tribute, and I was very pleased that they chose to honor Layne this way.

When the lights came back on, they were not the stage or house lights, but rather a set of pillars that had been set all around the stage. Onstage was a new, smaller drumkit, as well as William and Jerry, with acoustic guitars. Sean and Mike soon joined them, and the audience was given an amazing gift — a miniature Unplugged performance.

SECOND SET (ACOUSTIC)

1. Don’t Follow
2. Brother
3. The Killer Is Me
4. No Excuses
5. Got Me Wrong
6. Down In A Hole

The audience was perfectly still for this gorgeous set, with the occasional clusters of raised lighters here and there (also, security was amazingly aggressive at this point about grabbing cameras — not mine, of course). When they finished, again the lights were dropped and the projector started. This time, it showed clips of the entire band (including Layne) with lesser-known AIC songs playing in the background. Finally, the final AIC song ever written with Layne still in tow, “Died”, came on as the video changed to shots of the still-surviving members playing with a variety of singers — Maynard from Tool, James of Metallica, and many others — before a variety of live clips with William. It was, I believe, in essence, a way of saying “We’re back, and we are ALL here to stay.”

THIRD SET

1. Sludge Factory
2. We Die Young
3. Angry Chair
4. Man In The Box

The band threw most of their gear into the audience, leaving, and building the feverish anticipation for their encore. The screen came to life once again, displaying a live feed of the Warfield audience, black-and-white from an overhead camera, with a large AIC logo superimposed over it. This panned around for a while (it took most of the time for me to see myself on it, but I did at last) before clicking off as the band re-entered the stage. After giving thanks for the crowd, Jerry announced that they had brought a special guest with them.

James Hetfield, singer and guitarist of Metallica, ran onto the stage, as the Warfield erupted into a thunderstruck frenzy of screaming cheers. The sheer intensity of the evening had reached a level I had not perceived possible. So I did what the crowd did — I went nuts too.

ENCORE

1. Would? (with James Hetfield on vocals)
2. Rooster

Finally, the last song came to a massive close, William thanking the crowd and waving as he, Mike and Sean left, all of the members throwing picks, drumsticks, and whatever else was handy into the crowd. Jerry was the last to leave, and his arrival at the mic stand for a final goodbye caused a reaction almost on par with James’ arrival just two songs ago. Giving thanks himself, he departed, tossing more picks into the audience and then disappearing into the darkness of the backstage area.

For 90’s bands coming to play small clubs, this was easily on par with the Tool gig I attended. Not only because AIC is one of my all-time favorite bands, and they play songs that I will celebrate and remember till the day I die. No, this show was amazing because it was the band offering up every part of them to all of their fans, old and new — and even with all of that shown, they can still pull a few tricks here and there that will stun the audience in ways they never imagined happening.

The human heart is one of the most perplexing devices in the universe. Granted, it’s really the mind that controls all of our emotions and such, but in the interest of all the romantics that inhabit (infest?) our wonderful world, I’ll speak about it coming from the heart. It has the ability to instantly put a shining sheen on any situation, or to turn the most minutely tragic phenomena into a crescendo of spiraling depression. And the fact that everything makes PERFECT SENSE under its influence is downright disturbing, if you think about it.

I’ve been told before that it’s a foolish thing to follow your heart, if your heart is pointed at a woman (or man, if you happen to be a lady). Following a relationship, a lover, a partner is apparently not a goal to success in life. “What if it ends?” is always the argument. But it tends to be the main and only argument.

And yet, this argument comes from the same people who tell you to follow your heart, and follow your dreams — interestingly chosen phrases, if you think about it. If a woman (for the sake of argument, and for the sake of this being my blog) warms every inch of your soul, befuddling your heart with happiness and gushing her way into your most astonishingly wonderful dreams, what, I ask, is the harm in wanting to pursue her?

Every time I am falling for someone, I feel this way. Every time I am out of a relationship, I think of this as foolish. But by the same token, I have gotten to the point where I can see the validity and idiocracy of this belief whether lovestruck or not. And the be-all, end-all of it, for me, is this:

If you are at a point in your life, where you are still developing your dream of dreams, your goal of goals; where the thoughts of what you want carved on your tombstone or said at your eulogy in praising words are far beyong your comprehension; when you are still in this state of precognitive infancy, and you meet the woman who inspires your passions, your artistry, your desire, and everything about your being… is it wrong?

Something inspires us to do what we do and to be what we are. Something creates our happiness at who we are and what we do. Who is to say that the rockstar who makes millions of dollars is any more joyous than the man so in love with his wife that there are no words in the world to describe the depth of their connection? Both of these people have found something they enjoy doing, someone they enjoy being, and people in their lives that mean the world to them. Should that not be what is ultimately important?

I was in a state today of chiding my friend for what I thought was an ignorant pursuit — skiving off two important days of work to be with his new woman, and then planning to play even more hookey while pursuing her to Brazil, of all places. At which point, I knew of the weight of my hypocrisy. I know that when I am affectionately obsessed with a woman, I would travel to the ends of the Earth, and beyond, for her. I know that I would leave the town and job that I hold which exist so mundanely in my live, and follow her to a world with her. And then am I the fool, is he, or are we both — or neither?

It is very easy for us to see the joy and wonder in a life we are not currently a part of, especially when our regular lives can seem very trite and boring. In fact, such aspirations for more will often make our lives SEEM more trite and boring. But after enough experience, we become disillusioned and/or jaded enough for nothing to thrill us, or even to depress us further. What sort of life is that?

I can say with no ego or falsehood that I am in a good position. I have a job that I mostly enjoy, that pays well. I have a family that, no matter what they sometimes say, still does care about me and supports me in my decisions. I have friends that I know will always stand the test of time, no matter where they or I go. I have a house to live in that could be better, but is at a decent amount of rent and with a limited amount of bother.

But at the same time, I can see through the illusion of safety. My job is a good one, it requires a large amount of skill and attentiveness to detail, but the industry is so sprawling that many people less bright than me could fit into it just like any other piece of the puzzle. My family and home are wonderful, but I can’t be there forever, and this town is NOT the place to live at a point where high wages barely scrape the payment for rent. My friends are everything to me, but there again is no reason to stay attached to any town. Eventually, they will all be gone too. We have all at least determined that this section of Northern California has very little to offer for those with budding ideas of the future.

So with that in mind, I believe the quest I am beginning to embark upon will turn out very fruitful. I believe that if I leave where I am, whether it be in two months’ time or two years’ time, I will be going to a place where I can really start to look for a new future. And more importantly, I will be going to a place where there is someone who, for such a cold and turbulent place she lives in, is a beacon of gorgeous fire, an ecstasy-ridden grenade of wit, humor and beauty whose shrapnel causes happiness, stomach-butterflies, and the feel of worth more than I have ever felt before. (Kinda got random and rambly on the details there, but you get the point. Gooey things that would make sense to you if you were us.)

I am going in with open eyes and an open heart, my cautions very steadily hopping off to the four winds. And it feels wonderful. For the first time, I can look at what I could stay with, or what I could go to, and feel equally happy or sad in either decision. For now, though, I know that I want her, very much, and only time will tell how quickly my dream comes to be.

Every year, Thanksgiving is the same. The food is the same, the routine is the same, the company is the same. I suppose it has only really been the last few years that all my irritation with factors of the day has begun to surface. I’ll try to go into this without sounding whiny in my venting, but it may be difficult.

For whatever reason, my grandmother seems to have a revered presence when in our house — revered by my mother, at least. In recent years, my sister is following the pattern as well. Repeating what we say, loudly and almost childishly; laughing at her awkward remarks like they are badly-attempted but fully appreciated jokes; glaring at and bossing me and my father around when we don’t cater to her every whim.

My grandmother, admittedly, has been better in recent years than she used to be. There were years where we dreaded her arrival each year, because she would come armed with insults, retorts, and ridiculous demands. I think it was a letter written by my mother — the stammering, timid voice of communication between my grandmother and the rest of our family — that finally snapped these remarks out of her, or just a realization of how important we really all were to each other and that we deserved as much respect as she did.

But this year was the first time where I noticed the sycophancy of my family — at least, two of its members, anyway — and it really, REALLY bothered me. From my mother explaining to all of us how to dress, what to say, how to act, and exactly every little thing to be wary of; to my sister kissing ass and simpering up when my mom didn’t have the opportunity; you could just feel the falseness of it, and my grandmother didn’t notice a shred of it. I think I felt sorry for her once I realized it.

There is no need for a family to need to put a guard up when the relatives come over. Whether it be a wealthy grandparent, a wacky uncle, a timid cousin — no matter who they are, they are family, and they should be able to see the you that all of your family sees every day. Perhaps this disillusionment stems from living at home for the last 9 months or so, when I have been able — or forced, in some cases — to see all of the positive and negative sides of the people I live with.

And it’s not like everything is heavenly and shined by God’s shirtsleeve when she comes over. You can feel and hear the resentments and quibbles that come out of all of us, and even then it’s amplified a bit since we’re all under a strain to “be good”. It’s frustruating to have to put up this armor when it’s really not going to make any difference.

Case in point — my grandmother woke up at midnight on Tuesday night to listen to my radio show. Listened to the whole damn thing, too. Didn’t tune out the music just to hear my bits in between, either. I will have to say that I was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t make a single remark about it and was proud of what I had achieved.

Of course, my mother was the first one she told about listening to it, so naturally the first thing I got was the attack for saying too much. “Don’t tell her that you went to over 50 shows this year. She’ll think it’s a waste of money. And don’t tell her more details about all the music, she doesn’t care, she just listened since you played it.” I can’t believe this, honestly. And my grandmother was still an avid conversationalist about my radio show, despite my mother’s pre-Thanksgiving bickerings.

The holiday is an opportunity for us to express our thankfulness for things in our lives. I’m thankful that I can keep my head clear about this and not be deterred from expressing my distaste about such matters. I wish I could be more thankful for my family, but their actions really bother me. I know, also, that Christmas will be more of the same, and it’s annoying. But… what can you do? In the confines of a family, people change very little, especially when herded away from it as a group.

Christmas is fast approaching, also. There’s a MySpace bulletin and event invitations that I sent out about a Christmas party happening 2 days after, on Wednesday the 27th. Anyone who lives nearby and is interested in coming should RSVP with me as soon as you can!

(A quick note before this post begins: I am going to be selling my Primus ticket for Saturday night, since I cannot get anyone to cover my shift, nevermind the fact that I bought said ticket before any restrictions were going to be placed on me. But, I’m going to put it on eBay at face value for starting bid, so if anyone is interested, bid away. I’ll list the auction on here and on MySpace in the next day or so.)

It’s a very surreal sensation to walk into a place that you know, fully, but you’ve never seen before. You’ve heard the voices of everyone there, but you’ve never met any of them. That was my feeling when I went into the main offices of Live 105, the radio station where I got to record my Listener LiveSpace. For those unfamiliar with the concept, a Live 105 listener can go to their website, submit a list of 15 tracks of their choosing, and if they get selected, they get to come to the station to “host” an hour long show and play their list.

QS and I got to the station at about 3pm, but Miles (the intern who produces the LiveSpace show) didn’t come get me till almost 4. Even so, the wait was worth it as we walked down the halls of the office, me gawking at the platinum record plaques lining the walls (these included Kid A, Mellon Collie, Tragic Kingdom, and more of those awesome 90’s classic albums) as Miles talked to me a bit about the show.

We shot the shit for about 20 minutes, talking about concerts and music in general, including the scene with Live 105 and their desire to play more variety (which, to the untrained ear, they actually have been doing to a degree lately). Then Miles set up his computer for me to record. What I needed to record, essentially, was an introduction for each pair of songs that I played — one before, introducing the first song, and one after, talking about the second song and mentioning the first — as well as similar bits for an intro, outro, commercial break, and promo spot. He also let me plug my photography website, and told me he would mail me a CD of the show within a few days.

(So, despite the fact that I’m typing this on the night he’s playing the show, I won’t post this blog till the next day, most likely. Oh well. You can get a copy from me if you like.)

Once we were finished, Miles escorted me out and I got to talk to more of the crew, DJs included. No one there was patronizing or bothered by my questions and conversation; on the contrary, they struck me as the people I really imagined them to be: total music nuts with a penchant for the 90’s and some newer stuff here and there. I headed downstairs, got food with QS, and then we headed to the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium for the second event of the evening… Tenacious D.

After sitting on the floor for most of the hour before the show, the audience rose into a tight cluster about 10 minutes till 8 in anticipation. The opener, we had heard, was a comedian named Neil Hamburger, and from all of the opinions expressed by those who knew a little about him, he was apparently not very funny. Me being a big comedy nut, I figured I would give the guy a chance.

“Big mistake” doesn’t even begin to qualify.

Hamburger can only be described as an anti-comedian. He dressed in a horrid suit, his hair smeared across his forehead like streaks of oil, carrying three glasses of cheap alcohol against his arm. Before each joke, he took a swig from one, hocked and spit into it, and proceded to deliver in a foul, gravelly voice. But what he delivered could not be further from “jokes” than any stretch of the term.

Imagine the most revolting, bad-humored smartass remark. Now make it even worse, borderline prejudiced and overflowing with pointless offense. What you thought of just now is only the tip of the garbage that came out of Hamburger. It was full of bad taste, made absolutely no sense, and droned on and on for 20 minutes. To further the misery of the crowd, Hamburger responded to the objects being thrown at him — including a penny that clocked him in the face before falling in his drink — by extending his set more and more. The crowd could not have been more pleased to see him go.

Within a half hour after his exit, however, the crowd was reminded why they showed up. The curtains on the stage fell to reveal a backdrop reminiscent of a fratboy’s bachelor pad — hookah, refrigerator and Dio poster included — with the head of Kyle Gass poking up from the covers on the couch. And within moments, Kyle had not only removed himself from the confines of said couch, but he also revealed his companion — Jack Black.

The crowd exploded. Tenacious D had arrived.

FIRST SET

1. Kielbasa
2. History
3. Flash
4. Wonderboy
5. Dio
6. The Government Totally Sucks
7. Lee
8. Saxaboom
9. The Road

Halfway through the set, the D was joined onstage by their “friend”, Lee, who helped them sing his eponymous song. Following that, the Saxaboom — an electric, plastic-toy-looking saxaphone — was brought out for Jack to play, as Kyle and Lee rocked out to flashing strobes, to wild roars from the crowd. Finally, after Lee had left, Jack revealed to Kyle his new plan to make the band bigger — Tenacious D needed to go electric. Fishing an “electric guitar” out from behind the couch — which consisted of a long, aluminum-foil-encrusted stick, with long orange rubber bands and a toilet seat for a body — Jack plugged it in, and promptly electrocuted himself and Kyle (thanks to all the beer Lee had apparently spilled on the stage).

When the D next awoke (now on a video projected on the next curtain, after the apartment backdrop had fallen), they found themselves in the firey, mountainous regions of Hell. A short search brought them to a lone figure shredding away on a guitar — though he looked like a deadringer (pardon the pun) for Jesus, this turned out to be the Anti-Christ. Determining that the best players MUST be in Hell, it was not long before the D found Colonel Sanders to play drums, and Charlie Chaplin for bass.

The curtain dropped. The auditorium thundered. The D had returned… with a full band.

SECOND SET

1. Kickapoo
2. Explosivo
3. Karate
4. Dude (I Totally Miss You)
5. Kyle Quit The Band
6. Rare
7. Masterexploder
8. Storm The Gates
9. Sasquatch
10. The Metal
11. Beelzeboss
12. Double Team

3 songs in, a huge spat caused Kyle to leave the band in a huff. Jack, realizing his foolishness, crooned out “Dude (I Totally Miss You)”, bringing his compadre back to help with the harmony and to follow up (”Kyle Quit The Band”). The performance of “Masterexploder” was centered on Kyle heading over to a doubleneck guitar — which had the necks pointing away from each other in a wide angle, designed in appearance like a woman’s legs — and shredding away, tongue flicking around wildly like Gene Simmons.

Two songs later, the Anti-Christ revealed that his father — the Devil himself — wanted to challenge the D to a rock-off, and thus began the epic performance of “Beelzeboss”, ending in the successful defeat of the Prince of Darkness. “Double Team” closed the set, featuring a massive solo from each of the band members, and explosive lights and smoke as the D, and their band, left the stage.

It wasn’t long, of course, before they were back.

ENCORE

1. Fuck Her Gently
2. Tribute
3. Who Medley

If the audience was in a frenzy about the D earlier in the show, it was nothing compared to their reaction to the first two encore songs (the latter of which was highlighted by the brief reappearance of the devil) and the explosive, rocking finale. The D left the stage to thunderous cheering.

And that was the end of one of the most epic shows of the year.