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We’ve been busy at gremmie.net for the last few months. I got married. Goof was the best man. We played The Golden State at the wedding. We’ve done our best to keep pace, adding new material and making sure you gremmies can listen to All Encompassing Trip each week. But we haven’t published a new High Five in some time. So we’re back!
Was your face melted off trying to score tickets to PJ20? Us too – yet after 8 hours goof and I snagged tickets. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Here’s the top 5 reasons you couldn’t go to PJ20.
Assuming you don’t live in Wisconsin, the least amount of money you’re going to pay to attend PJ20 is $700. Between Tenclub tickets, the flight into Milwaukee, a hotel, and that hatchback Pinto you rented from Budget rent-a-car, PJ20 is gonna set you back the cost of a Kamaka Ukulele.
The US economy is in a recession. Because you got shut out of the Tenclub sale, you had to pay a 400% premium for Ed Vedder solo tickets on StubHub which went on sale first. You lost your job at the Pink Taco. Your wife left you for a Scott Stapp impersonator. Your Mazda Miata was impounded. Your kids… where are your kids? You’re giving hand-jobs every night in the men’s bathroom at the public park for five bucks a pop just to make ends meet. But then again, at least you don’t live in Wisconsin. Things are lookin’ up, but you’re still not springing for the PJ20 trip.
Let’s face it, your ice-fishing shanty was outfitted with dial up years ago and you haven’t bothered to upgrade to “the DSL” which was just introduced in Canada this year. Though the “internets guy” came to your log cabin to offer the service for free, you chased him off your land because the winter coat he wore made him look suspiciously like a Kodiak bear. And you HATE bears. Shame on you. This has prevented you from doing three things in life. 1) Downloading quality porn 2) Uploading your own porn 3) Getting Pearl Jam tickets from pearljam.com.
On the flipside, you’re an ex-pat who smartly realized that PJ20 is the setup and the following Canadian tour is the much more interesting punch line. Why bother spending $700 to go to the middle of nowhere when a month later they’ll come to you in the middle of nowhere free of charge? But hey, at least Wisconsin’s not part of Canada yet. You’ve got that going for you. Unless you live in Vancouver where your hockey team is a bunch of goons.
You just got married. Your name is goof, gremmie or something equally silly and your wife doesn’t understand your ostensibly homosexual affections towards a group of near 50-year old men and their 90-year old organist. Her subconscious recites songs by the Wiggles and the weird guy from Yo Gabba Gabba because she’s forced to watch them every day with your 2-year old and the tchotchke rhythms have embedded themselves in her psyche like a parasite, slowly eating away at the barrier that keeps all mothers from strangling their children as they cry.
She vaguely remembers enjoying real music before she met you. She illustrates random, but vivid details like the time she got backstage at an Elliot Smith show and discovered that every piece of clothing he wore was from Abercrombie & Fitch. She resents the fact that you still get to count music as a passion while hers have been trampled by the joys of childrearing. So, no you can’t go to PJ20. And if you ask her again she’ll make sure you don’t get any for a month! “It’s worth it” you say? A year then! Maybe instead of spending more time with your little band you could take out the damn garbage!
Ever been to PJF5.com? It’s a clever, if shallow little site that popped up recently in order to exploit the frustrating experience that is online ticket sales at pearljam.com by selling you a cheapie t-shirt. You went there thinking the Ten Club had finally wised up and admitted that the key to their online ticket sales was the F5 refresh key.
But you were wrong. Just like the time you mixed up “Smells Like Teen Spirit” with “Black Hole Sun” while chatting with Dave Grohl at the backdoor after a Foo Fighters show. Or when, at age 12, your Mom told you that you were her “special little man” and for the next 2 years went around telling people you were a midget. Point is: even Helen Keller could deduce that you’re a dumbass. But hey at least you’re not from Wisconsin.
Remember when getting Pearl Jam tickets only required you mail an index card to the Tenclub? One 3 x5 and a pen – that’s all you needed. Tickets guaranteed. That was then. Nowadays you need to apply for a credit card because that’s all they take.
Got a fast computer? Doesn’t matter. All bytes are created equal and when they’re all vying for a spot in the Tenclub’s tight, virginal, internet hole, you have as much a chance of success as the 5,000 other webnerds doing the same thing. No worries though, your investment is not a waste. Go play Crysis; and congratulations, only you and about 4 other people own a rig expensive enough to play that game. If you do decide to give it a shot, turn in your letter of resignation first, because when your boss finds out that you sat at your desk for 8 hours refreshing one website, well, we would fire you too.
You’re tired of this crap and there’s too much at stake. A lot has changed in your life since the 90s. You went to college, then grad school. Now you make 6-figures and wear clothes whose labels have two first names: Scott Paul, Jean David. Pearl Jam has always been in your heart, but “life” has slowly crept in. When “Jeremy” comes on the car radio your wife changes the station so that your daughter in the back seat doesn’t hear the word “fuck”, even though she’s heard it a million times from your mother-in-law. You tell all your liberal arts college buddies that you’d still vote Nader, but you voted for McCain in the last election. You tell yourself you’re fiscally conservative, yet socially liberal; and you both know you’re lying.
When PJ20 was announced, the curmudgeon in you finally won. It’s not the money; you can afford it. It’s not the time; you can skip the Hamptons for one Labor Day weekend. It’s the hassle: Getting tickets. Booking hotels. Cars. Flights. The ordeal of actually getting to Wisconsin. The mere thought of it is tiring. By the time you get there, you won’t have enough energy to raise your hands during “Wishlist”, or pump your fists when the house lights go up during “Alive”, not that you would… that shit’s for the beatniks, hippies, and headbangers who never grew up. Then again, when they look around and realize you’re not there, they’ll probably take another swig of beer, smoke another bleezy, and say “good riddance”. Then they’ll raise their hands higher and pump their fists harder than ever before as they watch Pearl Jam play not one, but two 20th anniversary shows.