“It’s cool. I’m with the band.”


Ever since I can remember I always wanted to be in a band.

I don’t care if I lack any musical talent.

Actually, that’s not true. I was by all accounts a fairly skilled bagpipe player for about two years in the 1990s. The dress wearing I could not abide. And, yes, a kilt is a dress. Tell yourself whatever you have to, bro.

Anyway, in high school, I tried to convince some friends of mine in an alternative band to kick out the bass player, Avy. Avy was a jerk, and his voice cracked when he talked. OK, maybe I’m being petty and my argument is unsound. I even went and bought a bass guitar. In the end, they declined my offer, and I later traded the bass for a wah wah pedal I never used.

The closest I ever got to being in a band happened in 2004, when my girlfriend, much to my chagrin, was dating an entire five-piece heavy metal group that was fairly well known in San Diego, Calif. From what I’ve been told, the metal group was not happy about her dating me either. I’m afraid we all had to get used to it. She was the one who insisted I buy that dumb wah wah pedal, by the way.

If you don’t know what a wah wah pedal is, it makes the guitar go, big surprise here, “wah wah.” It was fun for about five minutes.

Now that I’m 40, I’ve likely aged out of ever being in a band. Nonetheless, I still collect band names in a file on my iPhone which itself has an app called “Garage Band.” I’ve never been able to get Garage Band to work. Even my phone won’t let me play bass for it. How depressing.

Anyway, “Fun Control” would definitely be my super hardcore, leftist punk band that, despite it’s name, is absolutely no fun at all. Our first album is 14 songs and 16 minutes long. Your mom hates us. Oddly enough, your grandmother comes to every show.

I’m not sure what type of music “Kristy Swanson’s Cocaine Sex Party” would play, but I love the name. It’s inspired by an episode of the lame 1980s show “Growing Pains” in which Mike Seaver declines free drugs and probably hot sex at a house party hosted by none other than Buffy the Vampire Slayer herself. Man, I hated that heavy-handed moral pontificating on 80s sitcoms.

“Blucifer Stable Boy.” We show up uninvited to Denver Broncos games and play off-key Queen covers until the tailgaters ask us to leave. That’s usually before we can even get past the first verse on “We Will Rock You” and way before the solo.

“Ski Villian.” I had just watched classic 80s comedy “Better off Dead.” We play only love songs about John Cusack.

There are too many more to list here. It satisfies that urge for band membership that will likely never happen. For the record,  I still say Avy was a jerk with a squeaky voice, and I’d have made a far superior bass player. I still have that stupid wah wah pedal. Twenty bucks and it’s yours.

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