Well, If We Can't Get Danny Carey...
Woo woo woo! I know it’s been entirely too long since I’ve graced the world with a Chronicle, but I’ve been keeping myself quite occupied by being wretchedly fabulous. You know, lounging around all day whilst being fed Kristin’s Better-Than-Sex-Cake by gorgeous, oiled up, loincloth clad men. Uuuh. It is SO hard to be this effing money all the time! *Gratuitously flips hair*
Oh ok, shut up. We all know I’ve really been festering in my own lameness and have just not done anything Chronicle worthy lately. Boo friggity hoo, I know. The truth is that I’ve lost my mojo, baby. I haven’t had a date or even a love interest in the last couple of months. How bleak is that? Ordinarily, I have some backburner romance brewing where I am hot for some closeted gay guy (for what other explanation is there if a man does not truly love me?) who just doesn’t dig my chili, but these days, I’ve been too busy to give a flying fuck through a rolling Krispy Kreme.
One of my current projects is to find a drummer for my wicked ass rock band, AVIA. We’ve been recording for the last few months with Veda’s rock god drummer, and while we love him truly and want to pinch his widdle cheeks like so much nipples, our darling Drew's head would have very likely popped like a cherry if he would have had to balance school, work, and even attempt to have any sort of life, so despite how bitchin' our recordings sound, we still need a permanent drummer with which to rock the hizouse.
One would assume that the process of finding a drummer would be a fairly straightforward, wouldn't one? For instance, a band would put out an advertisement and a drummer would see it, listen to the material, decide that they are capable of playing with said material, and then send a somewhat clever response to the aforementioned ad. Then, a band would proceed to audition the applicant and subsequently secure a drummer. Right? Right?!
Wrong. We’ve gotten plenty of responses, but instead of coherent, semi-professional applications, we often get messages that go a little something like this:
“would u mind telling me more about the band. would u pleez tell me ur age and tell me the names and ages of the other members pleez? and i was wondering what king of music u guys play. and just so u know i am very young(but a very very good drummer)so if u dont want a young female drummer i would suggest looking elsewhere. thanx a lot.”
And:
“kay. thats kool. but i don't think u'd want me in ur band i am probably too young for you guys. i am really good but i just don' think u'd want sum1 as young as me i will tell u this much, i am still in school. but i dunno wat i'd do bout that is y'all travel in stuff. well write back soon.”
Upon receiving these e-mails, my head did a full 360 degree rotation. I am sure that this girl is indeed very young, but the only excuse for this kind of illiteracy is either A.) severe brain damage, or B.) the author is a 1st grader. Please people, if you are trying to make a good impression, use the flippin' spell check. And grammar check. And while you’re at it, pay attention in class. It’s honestly not that difficult. Especially when English is your first language. Seriously. I'm confidant that she’s a good musician, but no matter how rock and roll this chick is, my degree in English does not permit me to associate with people who have such poor grammar, spelling, semantics, and syntax. It gives me the full on wig to even think about it. *Shudders*
Last week, we actually were brave enough to audition one of these scary candidates. He seemed like a nice enough human being, that is, until he dropped four racist comments in the first ten minutes of conversation, then proceeded to explicitly reference his former drug addiction on twelve seperate occassions. Then, he began to play, and oh my GOD, it just got worse. I couldn’t even bring myself to come out of Joe’s room where I was hiding out with Staci when the jamming commenced. The son of a bitch seriously needed a metronome. No exaggeration here. It was honestly like being ass raped with a Garden Weasel. Or by Rosie O'Donnel. Whatever. The point is that it was heinous.
Now I happen know for a fact that there are intelligent, talented drummers out there. I’ve met many that I genuinely respected for not only for their musical skills, but because they were kick ass people. That being said, where the hell did they all go? Did some portal to Hell open up and suck all the good drummers into a swirling vortex? God, how scary! We should save them! Like Buffy or something. Quick, someone get a crystal, some incense, and some phat rhymes. We need percussion here!!!
