Oh. Yeah. This thing.
Roight. The blogger. I wish I could say that I abandoned you for something ambitious and life-altering. Sorry. Midterms kind of ate my soul and any desire to actually update this sucker.
Which is not to say that I was, by any means, particularly studious. Simply that in my frenzy of fuck-around-so-I-don't-have-to-study, I kind of went hog wild everywhere else except the blogger.
So. Back to business.
Yesterday was absolutely owned by the Walkmen. It was the second and by far larger show I've handled. Almost frighteningly so. From about 4:30PM and pretty much straight through until showtime, there were so many fucking balls in the air. (Nobody doesn't like a sports metaphor!) It doesn't matter how anal-retentively you plot out a timeline or plan out your schedule, once everything gets going shit just kind of piles up until you're up to your chin. Every moment that I needed a breather, everything felt like it was coming down.
But I'll stop it there before I get too dramatic. And I won't bore you with the minor details of the day (which, in hindsight, was ridiculously horrible for just about two straight hours-- nothing seemed to go right from load-in until soundcheck). Suffice it to say that UCLA Parking Services is unimaginably inept at their job, and Sarah Smith is a bitch who, judging from her professionalism after the fact, deserved to get her ass fired. Thanks for making me look ridiculously unprepared the minute I meet the band, you retarded motherfuckers. Next time I put in a req for parking how about you get your thumbs out of your asses and do what you're paid to do? And next time your band fires you, how about you inform me that you're sending a truckload of (completely superfluous) equipment my way so I can cancel it ahead of time, since you're too good to do it yourself? Gahd.
There was so much stress. So much stuff to run around and take care of. I swear I must have gone between loading dock and event services and AGB a thousand times. Big fucking ups to everyone who helped me out with the legwork. Especially Brian Kuzma. I threw that boy onto Hamilton and his ladyfriend while I was stuck figuring out parking bullshit and he showed them around like a pro. Then Ryan Swauger, Lee, and David were awesome being my pack-mule bitches and lugging equipment up to the ballroom. Not that any of those four are ever going to see this, but I'm so glad they came to help me out. Concerts staff is rawk. And, to a lesser degree, Web staff. There. I said it.
Oh my god was it ever satisfying, though. When I stood back and watched the five guys get up on stage and start their soundcheck, it was one of the most gratifying experiences I can recall. Ever. (Kindly ignore, for the sake of drama, that my memory is absolutely horrible when it comes to anything except pointlessly minute details. Like my kindergarten teacher's one yellowed front tooth. Her name escapes me, however... See what I mean?) As soon as I heard Walt kick in on the organ and Pete start tearing into the chords and from Little House of Savages in a then-empty ballroom, I was struck by an epiphany.
This is fucking amazing. I am organizing a concert for a great band. In that moment, all the bullshit was completely neutralized. And with help from some friends, I pulled it off. This is why I joined Campus Events. I love my job so much.
And shit yeah, you KNOW I worked the geeky angle. I got a free copy of their first album (and made a rip of it ASAP to replace the kind of shitty... otherwise-obtained... copy that I've been listening to for two years) and had all five guys sign it. Then we got them to sign a poster. Then we took a staff photo with them. God, it was dorky.
The subtext to all of this: Yes, the Walkmen are all ridiculously nice guys. Hamilton, Walt, Paul (who all the girls had a crush on, apparently... he is kinda sexy in an Interpol-flavored sorta way), Pete, and Matt are all such great people. So, so nice. I don't now what I would have done if they had all been a buncha diva motherfuckers (see: Hot Hot Heat).
Small tidbit that I was fucking pleased about: Hamilton, regarding The Walkmen being played on The O.C. and subsequently featured on the soundtrack, "Man, I hope we're the band that brings down the fucking O.C."
If there were a way to communicate just how much that made my heart (and genitalia) throb for the dude, I'd totally do it. (Google Image Search for the win!)
And now a drunken Kathy Kim is IMing me:
mrsewan: ERIC!!!!!!!!!
mrsewan: eric!!!
mrsewan: omg eric
mrsewan: eric dude
mrsewan: eri c man
mrsewan: jesus christ eric
mrsewan: eric eric eric
mrsewan: eric!!!
mrsewan: eric-san.
mrsewan: eric xian sheng.
mrsewan: mr. eric.
mrsewan: ericy
mrsewan: e-r-i-c/
mrsewan: EEEEEEEEE!!! ric.
Chaodoom: o.O
mrsewan: tERIfiC
Chaodoom: HAHAHAHAHAHA
mrsewan: kee kee keeee
Chaodoom: WIN
mrsewan: you are the MAN!!!
mrsewan: eric chao RULSE!!
Chaodoom: o... k
mrsewan: RULES!!
mrsewan: AWESOME!
mrsewan: forever awesome!
mrsewan: FOREVER!!!
mrsewan: MAD SKILLZZZ!!!
That would be my cue to leave. (<3 Kathy. Even if I'm gonna get yelled at for this. *MARTYR*)
-Eric
Which is not to say that I was, by any means, particularly studious. Simply that in my frenzy of fuck-around-so-I-don't-have-to-study, I kind of went hog wild everywhere else except the blogger.
So. Back to business.
Yesterday was absolutely owned by the Walkmen. It was the second and by far larger show I've handled. Almost frighteningly so. From about 4:30PM and pretty much straight through until showtime, there were so many fucking balls in the air. (Nobody doesn't like a sports metaphor!) It doesn't matter how anal-retentively you plot out a timeline or plan out your schedule, once everything gets going shit just kind of piles up until you're up to your chin. Every moment that I needed a breather, everything felt like it was coming down.
But I'll stop it there before I get too dramatic. And I won't bore you with the minor details of the day (which, in hindsight, was ridiculously horrible for just about two straight hours-- nothing seemed to go right from load-in until soundcheck). Suffice it to say that UCLA Parking Services is unimaginably inept at their job, and Sarah Smith is a bitch who, judging from her professionalism after the fact, deserved to get her ass fired. Thanks for making me look ridiculously unprepared the minute I meet the band, you retarded motherfuckers. Next time I put in a req for parking how about you get your thumbs out of your asses and do what you're paid to do? And next time your band fires you, how about you inform me that you're sending a truckload of (completely superfluous) equipment my way so I can cancel it ahead of time, since you're too good to do it yourself? Gahd.
There was so much stress. So much stuff to run around and take care of. I swear I must have gone between loading dock and event services and AGB a thousand times. Big fucking ups to everyone who helped me out with the legwork. Especially Brian Kuzma. I threw that boy onto Hamilton and his ladyfriend while I was stuck figuring out parking bullshit and he showed them around like a pro. Then Ryan Swauger, Lee, and David were awesome being my pack-mule bitches and lugging equipment up to the ballroom. Not that any of those four are ever going to see this, but I'm so glad they came to help me out. Concerts staff is rawk. And, to a lesser degree, Web staff. There. I said it.
Oh my god was it ever satisfying, though. When I stood back and watched the five guys get up on stage and start their soundcheck, it was one of the most gratifying experiences I can recall. Ever. (Kindly ignore, for the sake of drama, that my memory is absolutely horrible when it comes to anything except pointlessly minute details. Like my kindergarten teacher's one yellowed front tooth. Her name escapes me, however... See what I mean?) As soon as I heard Walt kick in on the organ and Pete start tearing into the chords and from Little House of Savages in a then-empty ballroom, I was struck by an epiphany.
This is fucking amazing. I am organizing a concert for a great band. In that moment, all the bullshit was completely neutralized. And with help from some friends, I pulled it off. This is why I joined Campus Events. I love my job so much.
And shit yeah, you KNOW I worked the geeky angle. I got a free copy of their first album (and made a rip of it ASAP to replace the kind of shitty... otherwise-obtained... copy that I've been listening to for two years) and had all five guys sign it. Then we got them to sign a poster. Then we took a staff photo with them. God, it was dorky.
The subtext to all of this: Yes, the Walkmen are all ridiculously nice guys. Hamilton, Walt, Paul (who all the girls had a crush on, apparently... he is kinda sexy in an Interpol-flavored sorta way), Pete, and Matt are all such great people. So, so nice. I don't now what I would have done if they had all been a buncha diva motherfuckers (see: Hot Hot Heat).
Small tidbit that I was fucking pleased about: Hamilton, regarding The Walkmen being played on The O.C. and subsequently featured on the soundtrack, "Man, I hope we're the band that brings down the fucking O.C."
If there were a way to communicate just how much that made my heart (and genitalia) throb for the dude, I'd totally do it. (Google Image Search for the win!)
And now a drunken Kathy Kim is IMing me:
mrsewan: ERIC!!!!!!!!!
mrsewan: eric!!!
mrsewan: omg eric
mrsewan: eric dude
mrsewan: eri c man
mrsewan: jesus christ eric
mrsewan: eric eric eric
mrsewan: eric!!!
mrsewan: eric-san.
mrsewan: eric xian sheng.
mrsewan: mr. eric.
mrsewan: ericy
mrsewan: e-r-i-c/
mrsewan: EEEEEEEEE!!! ric.
Chaodoom: o.O
mrsewan: tERIfiC
Chaodoom: HAHAHAHAHAHA
mrsewan: kee kee keeee
Chaodoom: WIN
mrsewan: you are the MAN!!!
mrsewan: eric chao RULSE!!
Chaodoom: o... k
mrsewan: RULES!!
mrsewan: AWESOME!
mrsewan: forever awesome!
mrsewan: FOREVER!!!
mrsewan: MAD SKILLZZZ!!!
That would be my cue to leave. (<3 Kathy. Even if I'm gonna get yelled at for this. *MARTYR*)
-Eric
posted by Unknown at 9:55 PM
2 Comments:
as Anthony would say:
HW = HOG WILD
oh goodness that boy is some kind of fun (and then some)
p.s. did you know he kissed saabir on the lips!
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek.
ravi
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