Breaking Anonymity

Breaking Anonymity:

How to successfully deal with people trying to get sober and not kill them or force them to relapse in the process 

Hi.  My name is Nick and I'm an alcoholic, amongst many other things. And apparently I am a terrible recovering alcoholic because I am breaking my anonymity with you all. But I don't give a shit.  I'm not ashamed and I don't want your pity. 

And no, I am not here to warn you about the ills of substance abuse in the hopes that you will take inventory in your own life and make the necessary changes of teetotaling and abstinence. Relax. I'm not here to judge and I don't care. Go snort some bumps, roll a blunt and wash it down with a shot of Jameson.  Seriously, I don't care what you do and how you live your life,  You can take that as my olive branch of "I-won't-judge-you-bro" or as a caustic shot across your bow.  Your choice; I don't care.  So let's move on...

February 2007 was a rough month.  By rough month, I mean I had several fistfights, constant arguments with my boss, a toxic relationship, a serious run in with the law, and a need to leave NY for week until things settled down.

It was a glamorous life that I was sad to leave behind.

This was also the time in my life when I hit my rock bottom and realized that I could not live in the manner I had been living: paranoid, violent, irresponsible, chaotic, unhealthy, dirty, and abhorrently dishonest. I could regale you with all my wanton tales of insanity, but that's not my purpose today.  This is not a confession.  Besides, I assure you that my story is in no way unique.  I was your typical degenerate alcoholic/addict with a penchant for the absurd.  All I knew was that I had become everything I had feared I would become, and alcohol and dry goods were the fuel for my down-fall. It was time to make a change, and I did. End of story.


I just read an article on a popular website about "5 Things I learned by Being Sober".  And I don't want to link the article or bash it (Ah, screw it. Read it for yourself here.).  However, I feel the author left out some serious stuff about sobriety and I want to clear it up and/or add some aspects I feel were important. This is my perspective.  In the process, I am sure that I am going to anger some of my fellow AA members.  Sorry.  But your program is not my program.  Learn to share and not compare. 

And more importantly, I want YOU, the uninitiated, to be more aware of what someone going through rehab or trying to get sober is going to go through.  You know, just in case you truly care or are just morbidly curious.



The First Few Days

My initial reaction to sobriety was, "What the fuck did I do to my life?!"   All my friends at the time were drinkers and such, and I did not feel comfortable going to them.  All my co-workers were distant from me as a result of my inebraited behavior at work after-functions.  My apartment resembled the life of a junkie with dirty dishes piled up, bottles strewn everywhere and piles of clothes tossed about the floor.  Everyone I associated with were either drinkers, drug users, or dealers. I felt alone.

I wanted to die.  I honestly hoped that I would have a heart attack or some long-forgotten adversary would burst open the door and shoot me in the face, multiple times. It didn't happen.

Then the survival mindset kicked in.  This feeling of "live at all costs" surged through.  I tried reaching out to friends, but no one really picked up (except for one dude that I am FOREVER loyal to).  I had only my family, at first.  Mom was not pleased and thought I was over-reacting.  Dad was shocked, but understood.  They didn't know I had a problem because I had hidden it (which was easy, considering they lived in another state).  I was a mess, but I knew better than to call my parents in a drunken rage or hung-over. And I'm glad I did open up, overcoming the impending fear of disappointing one's parents.  My dad gave me my first ray of hope when he said to me, "Why would I be ashamed or mad at you?  I have a son that wants to get sober and clean his life up.  I love you and I am proud of you."  My brother kicked in and took me to my first sober meeting. What would have happened if they didn't support me?

I was lucky.  Some alcoholics and addicts have NO ONE.  They are left to their own devices, having burned every bridge imaginable and betraying all trust they were given.  Their initial journey into sobriety is a lonely path. They have nobody giving a shit whether they live or die, get sober or get trashed.  So think about that if there's someone in your life trying to do the right thing. Are you really giving them "tough love" or are you just being a dick?

And those first few days are frightening for another reason: feelings.  As a man, I am naturally fearful of my emotions, seeing them as a sign of weakness (this is the part where you "tsk" and sneer down at me because you're a "progressive" and you think I am an outdated neanderthal).  As an alcoholic, I blunted them with substance after substance, poor decision after poor decision. I had only 2 consistent feeling: being fucked up and shame.  Now I had to deal with all sorts of shit like anger, fear, worry, inadequacy, and all the other ones I tried to blot out for years. Do you know what anger feels like when you first get sober?  It's like someone set your body on fire after they removed the skin.  Fear is a merciless bastard when you first get sober. It feels like the moon is going to crash down towards planet Earth and smash you in the nuts. It's overwhelming trying reconnect and properly manage your repressed feelings, especially because it happens immediately.

Is this anger or a deuce?

Physically, many go through withdrawal, depending what and how much they used.  DT's can be a nightmare. I've never had anything like that, but I knew a guy that went through it.  Seeing it firsthand scared the drink out of me for the next few months.  Vomit, diarrhea, retching, cramps, fever.  Fuck that.  I was lucky.  The worst thing I had was the "Drunk Dream".  Some of the old timers refer to this as "bonus time".  This is when your body is expelling the substances and you have lucid dreams in which you feel like you're drunk or high. I felt guilty at first, but you get over it.  Or secretly enjoy it.

The recently sober are fragile and intense.  Tread carefully.  But Nick, they fucked up and ruined their lives.  Not my problem. I see your point, you heartless bastard.  Sure, go in for the quick kill and gloat over a weakened soul.  Or you can just be a compassionate human being.  Your choice. 



Making meetings

Meetings, I feel, are essential to establish sobriety.  When I thought of AA and all associated groups, I thought they were like Druid rituals, held in church basements whilst hooded people in cloaks chanted around candles. I kinda hoped it was, but sadly, it wasn't.  And it sure as hell wasn't like anything I say in the movies where some preppy in glasses with a clip board wants everyone to "get real with their feelings".  It's much different than what you expect, especially for the recovering addict/alcoholic.  Here is what one faces in sobriety within the rooms...



           The Good

Typcial AA meeting.  Except for the dude in the cowboy hat...maybe.

In fact, the first AA meeting I ever went to, I was high.  I was taking somebody I cared about to a meeting in support of his sobriety.  But hey, I didn't have a problem at the time, so why not get trashed? And I wasn't friednly at all to the gentlemen that asked me, "Are you OK?  Do you have a problem?"  I promptly informed this guy that he was going to have a problem if he didn't leave me alone.  There I was at my first AA meeting, high, drunk, and ready for violence.

So the day I decided to make a change, I went to my first meeting, sober.  It freaked me out.  I knew at that moment I was in trouble, that I had decimated my life and had fucked up royally.  Fear overcame me and I wept.  But I left relieved.  People there were friendly.  They approached me and comforted me, offering phone numbers and an empathetic ear. Again, I had hope, but this time with understanding.
 

Yeah, sometimes we hold hands.  So what?

You have no idea how important that empathetic ear can be.  I've said this in meetings and I say it to you: the only person that can TRULY understand an alcoholic or an addict is another alcoholic or addict.  When I finally loosened up and began speaking in the rooms (terminology for AA meetings), I was able to say how I felt or what I was thinking. After several months of sobriety, at a meeting, I talked about how pissed off I was.  I had destroyed the cabinetry in my kitchen in a fit of rage, turning my knuckles into bandaged carnage (perhaps I had latent animosity towards wood-work, but more likely I had difficulty with my anger).  I shared that I wish I owned a flame thrower just so I could run around the streets and shoot it up in the sky to scare everybody, so that they could feel the anxiety and uncertainty that I felt. In today's age of over-reaction, I was concerned that someone might call the cops on me or report me, but I wanted to be real and honest with myself.  I needed to open up and not tell people what I felt they wanted to hear.  I wanted to say what I wanted to say.  Sure, some of the group members gave me awkward looks or turned their heads.  I don't blame them (as I am sure you may feel the same way).  But at the end of the meeting, two people came up to me and thanked me for my honesty.  They admitted to having similar feelings, and one even said he wished to own a flame-thrower for similar reasons.  We laughed about it.  I was comforted.  They were comforted.  The AA spirit was at work.That is what alcoholics and addicts get out of these meetings: support, comfort, and understanding.

          The Bad

Yet, that's not always the case.  AA meetings are not all warm and fuzzy.  Your newly recovering alcoholic/addict still faces some challenges within the rooms.

Tony, you believe this fuckin' guy?!

Some meetings are like cliques. Everyone knows each other and they don't open up to outsiders beyond a cursory level.  I went out for a smoke break during a meeting and saw a group of guys having their stoges in one particular area.  I figured that was the place least likely to piss off people that didn't smoke, so I went over there.  As soon as I did, one of the group, in his satin contractor jacket, tight jeans, and Paulie-Walnuts haircut asked me, "What are you doin' over here?"  I told them that I thought this was where the smokers could go. "No, kid.  This is where WE go to smoke.  Hey, Timmy, can you believe this fuckin' kid?"  It was like my third meeting, so I didn't know any better. I wanted to punch him in his fat Roman nose, but I stayed shut, skulking off to have my cigarette elsewhere.  I did not feel welcome.  I did not feel that this meeting would be a safe place.  I wanted to go back inside and throw tables at at everyone. It wasn't high school; this was my life, my survival.  I returned to the meeting and scowled at everyone there, especially Jimmy Bobalooch.  I also decided that I would never return there again. If I continued to go to that meeting, I would have built up enough resentment to say, "Fuck it" and go out drinking again.  Thankfully, I realized it was a dangerous place to be.

Other meetings are just places to hook up.  I went to one location where all the good-looking girls were cared after, their coffee and cookies brought to them, chairs pulled out, etc.  The less attractive girls were left to fend for themselves.  They were ignored for the most part, unless any of them could bake or would give people rides home. And the pretty girls fed into it.  They loved the attention and the fawning.  I didn't want to throw chairs or tables.    I wanted to piss on the floor.  But I didn't. I just left. I would find no help in that type of meeting unless I had big tits, a tight sweater, and played the role of a cock-tease. I saw the practice of "12th Stepping" in full effect.  12th Stepping is when one member (usually a male) preys on a newer member (usually a female), feigning a caring and wise ear just so they can bump uglies. It's fucked up and pathetic, but hey, how is that different from the rest of the human race?

Another meeting, I was chastised for using "coarse language". I was new there and was asked to share.  No problem.  But I'm not there to mince words or spout recovery poetry.  I tell my story based upon the mood I am in.  On that night, I was kinda pissed off, so sure, a few f-bombs made their way into the mix.  "Group conscience has decided to end your share there because the use of offensive language is not accepted."  That's what I heard the group leader say in the middle of my sharing. I was a tad embarrassed, but whatever, I'd get over it.  Fine, except, after me, several long-standing group members dropped f-bombs and the like, each one of those pompous pricks sneering at me as they did so.  My immediate thought was "You think you're better than me?!"  But having been to enough shitty meetings, I knew better than to let the stupid high school mentality get to me.  By the way, "Group Conscience" refers to rules and regulations set up by the ever-changing committee that runs the meetings. Mostly, it helps keep people focused and sets clear expectations and order to the meetings.  Other times, it can be a group's license to act like dicks. 

I've saved the best for last: the Nazis. I'm in now way going to go for any cheap WWII jokes (yet) or even remotely make them out to be remotely wicked as their WWII inspirations, but they can be bad for a newcomer in AA.  Most AA members don't like to talk about them, but I don't care.  They're out there.  These people and their meetings may have their hearts in the right place, but they treat the Big Book like it's Mein Kampf. and they will attack your sobriety and every single choice that you make the second you open up to them in the group.  Here's EXACTLY what my first experience with the AA Nazis was like...

Me: Hi, I'm Nick and I'm and alcoholic.
Himmler: And just how long you've been sober?
Me: A year and 4 months and...
Himmler: And you think you think that's long enough?
Me: Well, each day is more time than I had yesterday and I'm doing pretty good so far-
Himmler: You're stuck on time, aren't you Nick?  Don't you know you can just crawl back into that bottle the second you leave this meeting?  I've seen it happen.  You're no better.  Time means nothing. You don't know what you're talking about. You may be sober, but seem like a dry-drunk.
Me: I just wanted to share, but you know, if that's a problem...
Himmler: YOU have the problem.  You need to get real with yourself, Nick.  You need to work the steps.  You need to get a sponsor.  You need to put your sobriety first.
Me: But I'm working the steps. I have a sponsor.  I'm here at a meeting, putting my sobriety first.
Himmler: Don't convince me.  You need to convince yourself.
Me: Whatever. Can I just fuckin' share?
Himmler: No. You're time is up. And your use of offensive language will not be tolerated. Who's next?
Me:  You're dick, you AA Nazi.

Man, my last comment sent that dude into a tizzy.  He stood up, flinging his chair back, heaving with hatred like an angry jock in a room full of helpless nerds.  I was promptly asked to leave, and I happily obliged.

**Briefly, I'd like to mention Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meetings.  NA follows the same principles and steps as AA, but they focus on ALL drugs (aka dry goods).  These places I have found to be a crap shoot.  Either you'll get a really intense meeting that will scare the shit out of you for your own good or you get a tough-guy contest with a bunch of dudes bragging about who they know, what they used, and just how horrible they are.  It's like they were competing for a trophy.   

Sure, I may not have handled all these situations well. I may have added fuel tot he fire.  But I didn't let that deter me from my sobriety.  And newcomers need to know that these places exist and that they can just go find a meeting that best suits their needs and personality.  I'm not slamming the rooms of AA, but I won't lie about them, either. You just gotta look for the good ones and bail of the meetings I described above because you may endanger you sobriety by going there.  Not every room has what a struggling alcoholic or addict needs, and that's a damn shame. They just might expedite a relapse into abuse.

  


People's Reactions

People have no clue how to react to newfound sobriety, especially your friends and family.  You might as well have pulled up in car made of dildos while wearing ass-less chaps crafted from old newspapers from 1934.  You're different and everyone knows it, anonymous or not.

My immediate family was real cool with my decision to clean up.  My other family and close were weirded out by it.  Their initial reaction when I told them was "Ohhhh" accompanied by the face somebody makes when they smell a fart and try not to acknowledge the methane nastiness.  And then the condescending  "I had no idea..." sputtters out to compliment their awkwardly assembled face of support.  

My close friends KNEW I had a problem.  They were first-hand witnesses to my slow suicide of self-destructive behavior. Their initial awkwardness stemmed from the fact that we drank and got smashed together.  Now what?  We obviously cannot drink together any more. Would I try to convert them?  Was I secretly blaming them for enabling me?  People sincerely felt at fault for my abuse.  Did they now have to take into account their behavior? Does this mean that they now have a problem?

I told you I'd slow down.  This is slowing down.

Thankfully, we all reached a quick understanding:  this was MY problem, not theirs.

Then came the adjustment period .  What was sober Nick like?  Is he really not brooding in a corner planning to hit somebody with a chair?  He's not strangling me with his death grip telling me he loves me?  You mean his skin color is naturally healthy and not that sickly pale? 

Getting sober is about getting to know who you really are.  And friends need to do that as well.  I did not judge them or make them feel strange for drinking (once I felt comfortable enough to be around people drinking).  I appreciate their support, but I knew this was my problem to deal with and no one could keep me sober but me. When I was newly sober, they would start drinking, then they suddenly noticed me right next to them.  They would panic and say, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Is this ok?" I get it.  They didn't know if my will to drink may cause me to tackle them and lick the spilled beer off the dirty bar floor.  It was nice to know they acknowledged my decision and showed their support in a way I can only describe as cute. I don't mean that sarcastically.  It really was cute because it showed me that they cared. Eventually, it became a non-issue with my friends.  I played with them in beer-pong tournaments (my poor partner had to drink for both of us).  And they know when I need to leave, I NEED to leave immediately and no one gives me shit about it.  Plus, I love how vigilant they've become over the years.  I've been told by a multitude of friends, "I swear Nick, if I ever see you start drinking again, I'll fucking kill you and beat the shit out of you."  They love me.  With a vengeance.

Don't expect co-workers to give a shit.  Very few do.  Their reactions to you getting sober are more like, "Well, it's about time."  It tries to get passed off as tough love, but in reality, I think they're being dicks. But I can't judge.  I know when I was drinking, I was King Rectum of the Assholia.  Newly sober folk need to take it with a grain of salt and move on. If one of your co-workers decided to get help and you don't know what to say, say nothing. You want to help?  Let them adjust and stick that tough love up your ass.      

Sometimes. when I'm out in public or hanging with some one new, I get offered a drink.  I politely decline.  Usually, it's not an issue.  It may smoothly transition into a discussion about why I don't drink and how I'm in recovery.  Our discussion briefly leads to me answering some questions and dispelling rumors about AA.

Other times?  Not so much.  I get the incredulous face, as if my decline to drink is the equivalent of admitting to practicing bestiality. Then comes the, "Oh, is this for health reasons or do you have a problem?  What? You can't handle your drink?"  Oh, I can handle my drink.  And yours, and probably the next section over.  In fact, God designed me to be a drinking machine that is pure rage fueled by alcohol and whatever else you got.  Then I get looked at again, but this time as if my response is rude. Hey, fucktard, why not ask a barren couple why they don't have kids?  I've heard other members say things like, "I'm allergic to alcohol.  I break out in handcuffs." Clever, but I've never been arrested, thus it doesn't apply. Generally, I feel people that react this caustically to my decision to not drink have a problem they may need to deal with.  But that's not my place to say anything. I'd rather antagonize them because, at heart, I can still be a dick.

When dealing with an alcoholic or recovering addict, be supportive or be quiet.  Be polite and don't make a big deal. They're dealing with a freak show in their head.  And don't say it's not a disease for whatever stupid reason you can come up with (like that dick bag whole sports that Malibu cure). Let'em sort it out because it's not your problem.  



The 9th Step

Ah, the dreaded and often-ridiculed 9th step.  Essentially, after making a list of how alcohol has ruined their lives (an arduous and emotional task I foolishly took lightly at first), the alcoholic must make amends to those parties wronged (unless that shit will get you shot or put in jail.  That type of stuff, you keep to yourself and make an anonymous donation somewhere...).  It's more than saying "I'm sorry."  It's unburdening your soul and "cleaning your side of the street". It's about being a decent human being.

I joined AA and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

One thing that is rarely mentioned is that making amends does not mean that someone is going to accept the apology.  Seriously.  I was told that it is perfectly normal for people to tell you to fuck off when you try to make amends.  And that happens.  One person I made amends to told me that he'd slit my throat the next time I saw him.  Can't say I'd blame him. Others accepted my apology and acknowledgement of wrong-doing, nut asked me to never contact them again.  Can't say I blame them either. I was not the nicest person when using, and I have long ago come to peace with it.

So what should you do if you find yourself on the receiveing end of a 9th Step amends?

Be honest.  Let the person know you've been hurt.  Don't be like, "Oh no, it's ok, you don't have to do this."  Shut up.  The addict MUST do this. It's part of their program. Your being passive about it comes across as dismissive.  They are admitting responsibility for the first time in a long time.  Let it be.  And for God's sake, don't start crying.  This is not the time for you to unburden your soul.  Speak your peace and move on.  

  

Unexpected side-effects (good and bad)

What have I been drinking tonight? Nothing but awesome! 

Well, sobriety has it's perks, I will say that. Do you know how good it feels to drive through a police chekpoint or get followed by a cop and not have to worry about blowing a breathalyzer or having illegal stuff in you car?  When a cop tails me, i start thinking, "Yeah, copper, c'mon, pull me over.  I got nothin', ya hear me, nothin'! I'm clean, biotch!"  Ah, they'll still probably write me a chump ticket for a taillight or some other BS infraction.  At least it won't be a DWI or felony possession.

No more hangovers.  Sure I learned a way to beat them (vitamin B complex and water while and, especially after, drinking, and electrolyes), but now there is no impending need to.  OK, I admit that I gloat over my friends the day after a wedding or a bachelor party.  But I enjoy the little reminder of why I no longer party hard.

You know what else is awesome?  Getting out of parties, bars and social functions.  All I have to say is, "Hey, I'm uncomfortable with all this booze around" and everyone understands my early departure.  It's literally my passport to escape dreadful functions.  I rarely use it, and never on my friends.  But it's a nice card to play when you get dealt a shitty hand.  

Any guess who always gets ponied up to be the designated driver?  Yep.  Me. I suppose this is a perk for my friends.  They know I'm not drinking, so I'm always good to drive.  It's cool.  In a way, I look at it as making up for the times I was less-than-perfect friend.  I also know that my friends get home safely, making me a righteous bro.

A sucky aspect to sobriety is realizing how much the world revolves around booze.  Where do people meet to hook up and hang out?  Bars.  What's sold at almost every sporting event?  Beer.  What do most people have to drink with dinner?  Wine?  It's at barbecues, weddings, christening, reunions, concerts, everything.  I can't help but feel somewhat left out. But again, that's my fault.

The worst thing about sobriety is the advice or help-seeking that appears at the most inopportune moments. As a recovering alcoholic/addict, I am dutifully bound to help anyone that needs my help.  My wife knows that if one of my AA buddies calls me up at 3 a.m. and needs me to meet them and talk some stuff out, I'm going.  I'll be cranky as hell, but I'll be there.  Many friends (and friends of friends) have reached out to me to for advice regarding a loved one.  I'm on it.  I'll talk to you for hours and put you in the best direction that I can.  I've even been asked to take people to meetings and I was willing.  But you know when the wrong time to talk to me about this stuff?  When you're piss faced drunk.  You're not serious.  You can't be.  But Nick, when people drink, they lower their inhibitions and their true feelings come out.  Sure, sometimes, that's true.  I'll concede to that.  However, is that the right mindset to make a life-changing decision?  It's not.  I can't make that call just because they asked me in an inebriated stupor.  I want to help, but I can't.  It's not the right time (in my opinion anyway.  I'm sure some other AA member will vehemently disagree.  Your program, not mine). That's why I wind up saying: "Talk to me tomorrow when you're not as drunk and I'll help you out."  I've said that on at least 10 different occasions.  And you know how many came to me for help the next day?  None.

  

Constant Temptations and Reminders

I am in no way cured.  Everyday is a a struggle for any alcoholic/addict. I know that I can pick right up where I left off if I am not careful.  That shit keeps me up sometimes, but I get over it.  This disease is always present, whispering in my ear on some days and screaming in my skull on others. 

Some people call this partying, Alcoholics and addicts call this "Monday".

All alcoholics and addicts live in that constant fear and temptation.  If they don't, they're fooling themselves. I see a beer add on TV and think, "Wow, I want to swim in beer and live in a beer pool for the rest of my life."  And do you know how hard it was to watch The Wolf of Wall Street?  I had to watch it in parts so I wouldn't lose my mind.  Hell, if you want an accurate portrayal of alcohol and drug abuse, that's your movie right there.  One of my friends in recovery told me he had to leave the theater, and I don't fault him for that one bit. 

Being an alcoholic/addict is no easy task.  Getting to AA or rehab is the easy part.  Living in sobriety is the struggle.  It's a strange and fucked-up road to travel.  And it's nobody's fault but our own.

And does that make us weak, to have a problem with abusive substances and addictive behavior, relying on 12 Step programs to get us through?  Here's my short answer: fuck you.

Hopefully you'll be a bit more understanding when you come across somebody first-hand that is trying to turn his/her life around and not be a dick.  Maybe you'll walk with more compassion and not make it more awkward..  Or maybe you got that morbid glimpse into a world that you were curious about.  If you're questioning whether or not you have a problem, that's not me.  That ideas has been in your head long before you read this.  You need to sort that out. 

And if you need help or have questions, feel free to ask me.

Just make sure you're not drunk and pissing on yourself.  


Best regards,

Nick Marv


Nick Marv is a recovering alcoholic/addict that is just as crazy  than when he was out there partying like a beast.  He knows that each day of sobriety is a gift that can be pissed away with one bad decision, which is why he spends his time punching things with his fight team, Muay Thai Nation.Oh, and he lied.  He's actually crazier now than when he was drinking.

Death of the Rock Concert: an observation way after the fact

Death of the Rock Concert:  

An observation way after the fact

The excitement is contagious, giving me a semi-stiffy as I stroll through the arena.  I've dreamed of seeing this band since I initially raged out to the first song I heard by them.  They rock loud and hard and I want to rock out in the same manner.  I want drug-fueled antics and fire and sloppy girls whipping out their boobs.  I want to see clouds of cannabis haze and lasers while somebody od's in a stairwell. 

The lights go down and the crowd begins to build up the anticipation of seeing their heroes storm the stage, the lights to erupt, and the fire show to begin as loud, buzz saw guitars screech through the sound barrier and grab you by the sack.

But it doesn't happen.  A couple of jangly smack addicts (with real or feigned British accents) amble on to the stage, wave at the crowd with shit-eating smiles and commence to lame-fuck your hopes and dreams of awesome.

Welcome to today's rock concerts.  And, boy, do they suck ass.

1. I needn't sell my kidney on the black market in order to enjoy some tunes

Want to see the Rolling Stones?  Fork over your left testicle and nearly $350 for decent seats to watch the living dead perform "Brown Sugar". Want to see Jay-Z wave a towel around with his posse while he rhythmically spouts rhymes to the music of Korn?  Sure you do.  Cough up your next month's rent.

Of course, many people blame Clear Channel, which is, in fact, an evil monopoly in the music industry.  They own massive amounts of radio stations, billboard advertising, arenas, and concert promotion. I don't know how a company can own concert promotion, but I did my research and that's what ABC and CNN say. So whatever.  The fact remains that these corporate fucks have a stranglehold on WHO you see, WHERE you see them, and how much you will pay.  Fuck that.  I don't even like my wife telling me we need to be at some lame baby party next weekend (Uh, I mean other people's baby parties, not those of my close friends and family.  Your baby parties aren't lame, as far as baby parties go.  I so totally meant other people and their babies.).

You pay the processing fee, a convenience fee (of which nothing is convenient), and a ticket fee (if you can't buy them at the boxoffice).   I've read about government taxes and committees with less fees and bend-you-over-the-barrel ass-fuckery than these shitwads.

And for what?  So I can pay $60 for a so-so shirt that generically alludes to the very show I attended?  I remember when Iron Maiden played the Giant's Stadium after the Giants beat the Broncos in the Super Bowl.  I didn't go, but hell, if I wasn't jealous when people came back from the show with shirts that portrayed Eddie in a Giants jersey (with the player number 666 on his jersey) as he sat upon a pile of corpses dressed in Broncos gear.  That shirt said, "Hey, I saw Maiden, Maiden recognizes the Giants' victory, and I am also a Giants fan.  Eddie is fucking bad -ass. End of story."

No other show had those shirts.  NONE!  And that is what made it so cool.  Damn, I wish I got that shirt, but no.  But the following year, I made sure to give my brother money ($20) and go one one with the Statue of Liberty. I can bet that Missouri didn't have on of these.  Maybe one with Eddie dry-docking the Steel Arch, but not this international symbol of freedom. 

That's right, Lady Liberty.  You can't stop the rock.

At the Floyd show I went to, I treasured my concert t-shirt because it was designed for NY with only the NY dates listed on the back.  It gave me cred and endeared me to Floyd even further.  And you know what?  I paid $20 for that shirt.  If I didn't get so fat and tall, I'd probably would have held on to it...


Admittedly, I still have the urge to buy a shirt whenever  I attend a concert.  I still like to be somewhat nostalgic and keep up with a tradition of sorts.  But I will be damned if I pay $60-100 (yeah, you read that right).  I'll buy a bootleg off the crackhead in the parking lot.

And when did people start demanding more than beer, pretzels, hot dogs and drugs for consumption during a concert?  Sure, they were always overpriced, but $8 for a hot dog?  I guess people are too lazy to tailgate before a show.  That was the means to get smashed and eat (and piss yourself) for a reasonable price before going into the venue that is designed to rape your wallet. You hung out,m barbecued, smoked a doobe, blew some lines, threw back some shots, and then limped your way into the show.  Not today.  People are willing to have a micro-brew with their ciabatta panini with crusted artichoke flakes and side of wheat grass juice for the bargain price of a $45.  You deserve to be taken for your ducats and miss out on the show waiting on that ungodly line.  You know what I do?  If I am at a show and lose utter interest, I like to wait on the lines.  When its my turn, I ask questions and change my mind for about fifteen minutes before I just ask for a cup of ice. Then again, I'm an asshole and anti-social.  But that's neither here nor there.

Concerts are obnoxiously overpriced.  But there are some artists trying to make the difference.  Kid Rock charged $20 for his "Best Night Ever" tour.  He went on record saying he wants his fans to come out and enjoy the show and not rape their wallets.  Kick ass.  Or you can just regale yourself to awesome no-name acts that charge a $10 cover to sit in a dank bar and watch them rock until they eventually get huge and/or self-destruct like Semi-Precious Weapons.

Hey, Justin, how's that coke habit going?

I will suck the cheese from your toes if you just let me look at a heroin balloon.

2. I came to rock...and see shit EXPLODE

In 1987, I saw Pink Floyd's "Delicate Sound of Thunder" tour.  It was my first concert.  Beds flew out from the rafters and exploded on stage.  Flames shot out from behind the band.  Sparklers and booms emanated from all around.  I was in awe.  It was like the greatest 4th of July show I had ever seen.  Plus there was an ominous pig that bounced above the audience with its lit-up eyes and giant testes.

OK, this isn't a Floyd show.  It's the offering I presented to my Filipino in-laws.  No wonder they love me...

I knew right then and there that there was no place greater than a rock concert.  At any moment, lasers would erupt from a fireball and Jesus would descend from a cloud playing the most bitchin' solo I ever heard shred along the neck of a Fender Strat.  It may never happened, but, man, the possibility that it could was enough to keep me coming back for life.

Until I hit my 20s and Great White lit a small club on fire with some Tijuana sparklers.  Now, it's a lame fuck around. 

You know that moment when the band plays their greatest song (usually their last) and the stage is supposed to erupt with lasers and smoke and fireworks that shake your butt cheeks?  Gone.  All we get is a flash of lights and some fucking confetti shot into the crowd like a fat girl's bachelorette party.  (Thanks, Journey.  Although you put on an energetic and awesome show overall, the party poppers used to close the set reminded me how ancient and decrepit the original members of the band are.  I bet they checked the thermostat several times during the show, fucking grandpas...)

Maybe you might see some cool inflatable characters on stage, but now they're safe. No more pigs with bulbous testicles or hookers with blow-up titties that could rescue the titanic.  Nope.  I saw Ben Folds and was treated to a giant smiley face like you'd see on those "Have a nice day" shirts.  Sure, I'll bet that there was some element of hipster sarcasm attached to the prop, but all I wanted to do was storm the stage with a ka-bar knife and slash it out of existence.  Then again, I do have anger issues. But that's neither here nor there.

More times than not you will witness a screen playing videos and other weird technological shit.  A handful of lasers, sure.  But essentially I am watching a shitty slide show the moves at such a frenetic pace I might as well eat some shrooms and wear a comic book on my face. Perhaps the only upside to such jarring visuals would be when people eventually start having epileptic fits and foaming at the mouth.  Then, I could rifle through their pockets and gather enough dough to buy a shirt.

Fuck you, Great White and your shoddy pyrotechnics guy.  Your murderous stunt ruined it for exciting live performances forever.

"Hey, I got an idea! Let's endanger our dozens of remaining fans by putting on a stadium show in this rat-hole deathtrap.  Brilliant!"

3. The following rebellious rock band is brought to you by Quicken Bank...

We can blame Clear Channel.  Better yet, we can blame the artist.

OK, we understand that the whole digital age has gutted the lifestyle of a rock star, making record sales pointless unless you can move millions of units. Need we see Chase Banking or Taco Bell on your posters?  As a capitalist, I can see how this may alleviate the financial burden of a beach house in Malibu, private jet, an unscrupulous rider, and child support, but don't be too much of a shill.  That's what TV commercials are for.

Alice Cooper plays golf, did an insurance company commercial and some other commercial for a hotel chain.  However, his shows are not presented by Pepsi or All State.  He keeps his business and music fairly separate. I'll wager that Kid Rock does the same thing.  He keeps it about the music and not advertising at his shows. And dare I mention the Insane Clown Posse?  They are a wholly independent venture that has a voracious following of fans.  Yet, they keep their music and business separate. Good form, gentlemen, good form.

Once the boys in advertising figure out how to market to these sociopaths,
 the world will probably implode in a final act of vengeance.

 
But it's too late, I guess.  The revolution wasn't televised.  It was sanitized, censored, and shrink-wrapped for public consumption, given away with a Big Gulp and a KFC nibbler meal.  

To all rock artists, I say this: make your money.  I won't fault you.  You're an industry puppet and that's OK.  That's the business.  But do have some semblance of trying retain a shred of artistic integrity and opt out of having Pizza Hut present your show. Even street walking prostitutes turn down unsavory offers and clients from time to time.  So can you.  

4. You paid good money to see me play, now watch me stare at my shoes...

Give me danger.  I paid some good money for a show and I'll be damned if I'm not made to believe someone's life is being jeopardized.

I want to see a lead singer scurry around stage and antagonize fans like the coke head I know he is.  Let's have the guitar player snarl at the crowd and jump off of his amp, mid-solo.  The bass player should be thrusting his crotch in girls' faces as he pretends he is an integral part of the band.  Drummers better be flinging their sticks into the audience every other songs, causing unaware audience members to justifiably lose an eye.

Nope.  We get one of two things.  Either we have the old, arthritic rock star crippling along the stage as a shell of the awesomeness he once was, hobbling to and fro in such a pathetic hoax of rock stardom.  Or we get what I HATE the most: shoe-staring mannequin fucktards.

It even has its own genre known as shoe-gazing.

"Liam, i just tied the best double knot EVER!"

Shit, I can go to the nearest bodega and watch the local drunk stare at his shoes as he mumbles incoherent ramblings that I guarantee are far more interesting than most musician's lyrics. I don't care if you're Jimi Hendrix; I did not come out of my way for you to ignore me and not acknowledge my efforts, even if you have been dead for over 40 years.  Look at me, dammit.

It is like we walked in on a practice session and the band, unable to get rid of us, is visibly annoyed and uncomfortable.  If you are so put off by people watching you play, hide behind a sheet or a wall.  Better yet, put up a wooden fence and yell at us for being too noisy.  

You're not that important.  You're not that good of a musician.  You think you're better than me?  I hope so because I have a pretty long track record of telling off and intimidating celebrities and musicians. But that's neither here nor there.

We came out to see a show.  We want to see you jumping around and being theatrical.  Ask me how I'm doing tonight.  Ask if anybody's getting laid or if we abused massive amounts of illegal substances.  Dry hump your guitarist and acknowledge the drummer. Something, anything other than forcing us to watch you play as you ignore and bore us to death amidst a flurry of slow moving lights that slowly change color with the occasional laser beam.  I'd almost make it forgivable if you closed out the entire shoe-watching set with, "Hail, Satan, Dark lord.  Drink Blood tonight, New York. Thank you. "

"What about the dancers?" you may ask.  Yes, what about them?  I do believe that you are talking about hip-hop and R & B shows.  We're talking about rock concerts.  But since you brought that up, I'll entertain you.

If you want to see dancing, go check out Alvin Ailey or a strip club.  Same difference, really. At least to me.  Sure the Roots put on a great show of musicianship and are overall entertaining, but that's it.  Where is the experience?   Where's the excitement.  Sure, ?uestlove is one of the best percussionists in human history, but I've seen him walk all around stage and keep the beat.  It was cool, but it would have been a lot cooler if his drumsticks were on fire or if he played angrily atop the heads of his adoring white, middle-class audience.  Kanye West hobbles around black lights and worships himself.  We could only hope he has a stroke mid-song.  Maybe Eminem came the closest to being exciting and dangerous when he came out dripped in blood wielding a chainsaw. But that was short lived because D-12 immediately followed him on stage and continued to parade around with towels and water bottles.

5. I want fury, beer and tits, not philanthropy and cuddles.

Eddie Vedder once wore a Bush mask and lampooned onstage until he tore it off and smashed it with his microphone stand.  And I have forever thought of him as an asshole since then. Not because of his politics.  Fuck it, I don't care about the secret society of rich dudes that are working hard to enslave us with biometrics and economic policy.  I want a release from all that shit.  I want to let go and get lost in the music.  And Vedder ruined that for his entire audience that night.

Alas, Horatio, I knew thee well...oh wait, I'm supposed to be rocking the fuck out...

Music is expression and a connection between artist and audience.  It's intimate.  But how much of a narcissist can one be to assume that I will agree with your views about rain forests and economic policies mid-show? Because I bought a ticket and a shirt?  Don't flatter yourself.  Guys buy a lot of shit and it really has no intrinsic purpose, aside from getting laid. There are no real philosophical or moral alignments made. The same holds true for rock concerts.

Indulge me here. Ask any single guy, honestly, if he's buying dinner for his date because he really feels it's the right thing to do.  While you're at it, ask if he ever laughed at a crappy joke or listened to an inane, pointless story she told about her co-workers because he wanted her to feel good about herself.  OK, you're back? If he said yes, he lied to you and you're probably a chick, his boss, or some strange hybrid of chick boss. Or he suspects you might be a chick.  If he told you, "Hell, no, bro.",  you have an honest friend. 

And I made my point: guys don't get too deep about stuff just because they're spending money.  I don't care if Honda is conservative or liberal just as long as my CR-V operates well and does so for an extended period of time.  I didn't buy it to make a statement about my beliefs or to reinforce those of Honda.

The same holds true for rock concerts.

A snide comment here and there? Fine.  I can live with that.  But entire diatribes and heavy-handed speeches about music piracy (thanks Dave Grohl) or Catholicism/Christianity (Marylin Manson...any fucking surprise?) belong on your DVD or podcast or magazine interview, now.

I don't know about anyone else, but when I rob a bank in order to pay for my concert ticket, I am not doing it with the intentions to hear pseudo-intellectual ramblings from a musician.  When I go the bank, I want financial advice and not suggestions about how to improve my sexual prowess.  You're paid to do a job, so do it and shut the fuck up until the proper opportunity arises.

6. You mean I can get backstage?!?!

Yeah, you can.  It's called the "meet and greet" and it will cost you $350 to watch the band eat fruit and drink sparkling water harvested by the indigenous people of Kerplakistan and imported via fair trade, encased in recycled bottles that are made in a factory who's workers fastidiously save the platypus on their lunch breaks.

Long ago, only the band, the crew, drug dealers, journalists and slutty girls with low moral standing and minimal self-worth were allowed backstage.  It was a magical and exclusive place that was off limits and once held an air of mystery.  Not any more.

Kid, I don't care how much you paid.  You met Paremoire. You shoulda bought crack.

For a hefty ransom, you can meet the band, take a photo, maybe get an autograph, and then get shuffled away.  I'm sure some bands are cooler than others and make more time for fans.  But most people I know that have spread the bread for such an experience told me that it lasted for roughly 15 minutes and the artists are so preoccupied with business, egos and pre-show rituals that it wasn't such a personal experience.

And when you purchase this meet-and-greet experience, pay close attention to the regulations.  You are not guaranteed to meet the band, speak to them, or take pictures.  Your camera can be confiscated and if the band is made to feel uncomfortable for ANY reason by your presence (not the best time to wear your clown outfit and do balloon tricks, I suppose), you will be escorted out with no refund.

So let's see here...$350 for 15 minutes of pleasure?  Sounds a lot like prostitution without the sex (though I am sure the chance of catching an STD, most likely airborne, is just as likely). 

7. Worship me as I stop the show to a grinding halt with extended solos

The concert is trucking along.  The lights, the stage, the excitement?  They're all there.  Then suddenly, the guitar solo you remember from the album begins to change.  One by one, the other musicians stop playing.

You just entered into the concentric circle of hell known as extended solos.

The guitarist will go on and on, playing licks that you'll never be able to play, making you feel more inadequate than you already do.  He writhes around in self-importance for a few minutes more and eventually stops.  But it's too late.  The bassist has caught the fever.  The bassist starts plucking along to let you all know how funky he can get.  And don't leave the drummer out.  He wants to impress you with how fast and rhythmically he can bang on shit.  What started out as a rock concert has now become an ashram, sans the chanting.

This is also the time when the lead singer wants to show you he is not just a pretty voice.  Nope.  He is just as talented as a musician as the rest of the band, or so he thinks.  The singer will pick up a harmonica to show they have a blues degree (Steven Tyler, you big-lipped mook) or maybe start playing the piano in order to get the ladies wet.

Hurray, I was raging in full on rock mode and you killed it.  Perhaps I may have the picture of a puppy that I find particularly cute that you want to torture and maim while you're at it.

No band is really free from this.  I got trapped at an Yngwie Malmsteen show and it was an hour worth of solos.  I know he doesn't really have a singer or lyrics and all of his songs are solos.  But really, an extended solo?  I fucking hate you.

Sure, it's cool for the first 5-10 minutes, but I couldn't take it.  After 20 minutes or so, I got front stage and gave him the finger, yelling my rage at him.  He smirked at me, but his fans went ape shit on me.  You think I pissed on their mom's leg, when all I wanted was to see Twisted Sister for chrissakes.  It turned into a small brawl because I was much angrier and quick to flip back then.,  But that's neither here nor there.

We know you're decent musicians and that you can shred.  We've listened to the albums, we saw the videos.  Enough.  Play some more songs and leave out the solos.  And for God's sake, don't pick up the acoustic for a sentimental number...

8.  You, the fan, have ruined the rock experience

I can only blame the industry and artists for so long. It's time I start blaming you, the concert goer, for this as well.

I'm on the fence about bringing your kids to a concert.   I love going to a KISS or Alice Cooper show and seeing the younger generation singing the songs and dressing like the band.  That's fucking spot-on parenting.  But other parents, not so much.  Your child is not an accessory for you to impress other people into thinking you're cool.  If your kid hates the band, leave them at home.  Better yet, you stay home with them because you are a shitty person for raising a kid that can't appreciate good music and you don't deserve to share the same area of Earth that I occupy.

Top-notch parenting in action.

And don't you dare protest the band or the venue because the show became "objectionable" at some point.  If you were seeing Raffi and he pulled his cock out mid-song, I'd say, sure, you have a case.  But if you are at a Van Halen show and David Lee Roth's crotchety crotch-thrusting is too much for you or your lame child to handle, fuck you.  You should have known better.  After months and years of leaving your child to be raised by an iPad or TV, you suddenly are concerned for what's going into your kid's brain?  You have no right.

And let's be real, when taking your child to such an event, you better be prepared to answer questions about alcohol, marijuana, cleavage, creeps, and vomiting.  That's the price. I knew that when I took my niece to her first concert.  Many questions had to be answered, particularly when the drunk guys behind us got too rowdy, and after several polite requests to calm down went unresolved, I throttled him by the neck.  It was a new life experience for her, positive and negative combined.  And that's what made it a rite of passage.  Now it's an opportunity to sue or protest.

And I want to smash those dickwads who must film the show on their shitty smart phone right in their repugnant faces with the broken armrest of my seat that I managed to wriggle off in pure rage.

Bro, I'm recording you record the guy recording the show. 

Sure, taking pictures are fine, but recording the whole concert?  Doesn't that negate the experience of WATCHING the band perform?  You're missing out on the gig, guy.  And the light on your phone is distracting me from enjoying myself.  And that's the problem. You're messing with other people's experience because you're too much of a fucking idiot to make real memories that don't exist on your phone so you can post them later to your lame-ass friends on whatever social medium you subscribe to.

Choose another planet, Zorg. We'll torch your ass.

And the phones are a testament to how lame we have become.  Instead of lifting our lighters, we lift the lit screens of our phones in a sign of solemn devotion to the band.  Sure, nobody really smokes anymore (and that's a shame in itself),  but we have become too soft as a species to wield fire unless it comes in the form of an electric glow. There's something more powerful and primal when you wave a flame side to side versus that of an Apple product.  Aliens are watching us and laughing at how lame we are. I just know it.

You're also to blame for the high prices.  You're WILLING to pay exorbitant fees for tickets, shirts, and water.  FUCKING WATER!

In closing...

Concerts are not what they once were.  Very far and few in between are the bands that really push the bounds, give you a real show and don't molest your finances.  Between the companies, band egos, and the stupidity of the population, we're doomed in the realm of live entertainment. Soon, it will be The Real Housewives LIVE!, the world tour.  And it will be everyone's fault.  Except me. 

So when you come to an Adios Mafia show, and you see me running around stage, stripping out of my clothes, passing out knives (yes, real knives, but that's neither here nor there) while passing out pornography and yelling at the audience, you'll know where I'm coming from and that the rock n' roll show spirit is dangerously alive and well.

Let me leave you with this...

Welcome to the...cough-cough-wheeze...please kill me and put an end to my life as a rock n' roll couch...

Best regards,

Nick Marv


Nick Marv is lead singer, frontman and rhythm guitarist for the band Adios Mafia.  He wants you to buy their stuff at adiosmafia.bandcamp.com/ so he, too, can become a bloated rockstar and put on lame shows that will disappoint the audience.