I'm sitting here doing nothing good with my life. Do I have an idea of what to do? Of course not... why should I anyway? I’m only 15. Next school year is my sophomore year, and boy is it going to be fun. I’m probably good enough at guitar to start a band... I could get a fan following, some cash, and even some girls for once!
Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t even know a single scale up the neck. I did play in that cover band last year though! We called it The Feedbacks
, for a fairly obvious reason. Our sound techs sucked. Our singer was our sound tech. Good thing we heard anything aside from the piano and the vocals! I don’t know what it was with my guitar playing, but I’m pretty sure I got all the pu-
Oh wait, here comes my low-life pubescent cousin, Joe. He must come over every day now that our little “comedy” project with Matt blew out of proportion. Our last practice was probably the worst I’ll ever have in any band.
“Hey, you want to start up our first song, Friendzoned?” Matt, our bassist, asked.
“Yep, recording.” I replied.
I sung nearly every song. I wrote every song. I just did it to keep them amused, I said.
Every other practice was fine, but this one was hell.
“She said, she said she wanted to ask her parents...” I sung.
In the middle of the first song, which I had named something else but no one else seemed to care, my dad came in and we had to cut the first song, and we went right on to the second song.
“Uhh, yeah, I kinda need to go at 3:30. Someone’s coming over.” Matt said after we finished.
There were a couple of songs that Joe sung. He didn’t really know how to play a backing instrument, so we made him sing as he insisted anyway. Turns out he didn’t know how to sing either.
“Dammit, let’s just do the next song. Joe, you ready to sing?” I said.
“I ain’t singin’” Joe immediately retorted.
I had to act quickly, so I just concluded with our power (fag) trio, “We’ll do an instrumental and you’ll record the vocals later, okay?”
No response. We went through a slide-guitar-wanking-fest, a Beatles-esque shuffle about the inability of myself to get a date, and then an instrumental jam where Joe picked up a guitar and played open notes while Matt riffed on the bass.
After that jam all hell broke loose. Joe started jumping around and shit, and he kicked his toe on a pole. He lied on the floor for five minutes, muttering “Joe’s gonna rage...” over and over again while Matt and I started up “Get Off The 3DS”, which was explicitly making fun of Joe’s addiction to video games.
At the climax of the feedback drenched piece of sh-t Joe got up, and screamed the words to end all words (in our band, at least). “JOE’S GONNA RAGE!” And he proceeded to tear up the entire place, nearly smashing all of my guitar stuff and my face. Matt got p-ssed first.
“Shut up, Joe!”
Then Joe started screaming at me, “You can’t sing at all! Sing for me!”
I replied in probably the most powerful screaming voice I’ve ever done, “F--k you!”
“You still can’t sing!”
I just kept on screaming, “F--k you!” over and over again.
That whole time we were playing "Get Off The 3DS". It was either our best recording of that song or our worst. Either way, someday it’s getting up on Soundcloud.
Matt and Joe left right after that song, never to be seen together again.
All those drum tracks I made, wasted completely.
Joe doesn’t even knock. He just barges right in, yelling “Hello!? Hello? Hello!” I call him to my room, and lead him downstairs to play some video games right after. That’s all he probably does unless I’m around... Play video games. Sometimes when I’m over at his house we do random shit because I don’t want to play video games. We make hot sauce popsicles, switch the milk and the OJ, dust off board games and Pokemon trading cards, and overall annoy the shit out of his family. Sometimes, it’s a damn good thing I’m his cousin.
We play "Uncharted 3" for a while, because he can’t play "M For Mature" games. He brings up the topic of music genres, most likely to p-ss me off. Being the video-game-hipster-whore he is, he kind of likes what he calls “8-bit music”.
I usually call it electronic music, because that is "obviously" what it is.
He overreacts anyway when I correct him.
“Would you shut the heck up for once, you smartarse?”
“Easy tiger,” I reply.
“No! Shut up! I’m also better than you at 'Uncharted 3', you pritstick!” he yells out of his dumbass angst, and he hides my copy of "Grand Theft Auto 4" where he usually hides shit in my house, like in the back of some closet.
He'll be back again tomorrow, I'm betting on it.
He’s spontaneously aggressive, I guess. His mom just says he’s going through puberty… I guess I can believe her, even though he's been like that all his life to different degrees. Personally I think he should be locked up into a cage until he grows up, but his mom sends him over for me to deal with him every day.
I guess I can go try to fantasize about my bands and how it’s gonna get me ladies and cash.
Maybe it’s time to take action. Not like those other singer-songwriters on Facebook though, saying that they wrote 500 songs on a trip to Toronto or something like that just to get a bunch of likes and a bunch of girls.
I need some real action, quickly, before the summer is over.