Submitted by Ryan McMahon on Thu, 2006-12-14 14:33.
I've waited to post another journal online - I think there's been about 5 rough drafts that just didn't ever see the light of day that I ended up tossing away in the trash.
Not that this will be particularly profound; I just have a Friday night to kill, some things on my mind, and dinner's still frozen, so there's at least an hours' worth of thawing to do yet... I might as well spend it clicking and clacking and completing this day: Friday, November 3rd 2006.
Submitted by Ryan McMahon on Mon, 2006-10-23 17:21.
Hello to the Opus;
I haven't been on here as much as I should have been... between the cocaine, hookers and MySpace and writing songs and watching Jeopardy, I've been kind of out of the loop in Opus Land. So, for that, I'm sorry.
Anyway; there's a show that you need to come to if you live in Vancouver - or, fuck it - if you live in Montreal, you should still fly here and come to this show. It's the SUPER AWESOME SHOW dammit, and it's this Thursday.
Submitted by Ryan McMahon on Wed, 2006-08-09 12:08.
Wednesday, August 2 2006
A Broken Guitar, A Wakeup Call, A Shitty Shoe, and a Milk Bone
What a couple of months. I broke my "A" guitar during a soundcheck - the culmination of a strange, and sometimes disasterous trip lately.
So I'm standing there, waiting for Geoff Hicks, our sometimes drummer to show up, and wthout the necassary strap-locks in place, I remove my hands from my axe. I adjust the mic stand to 'little man-size,' so it's ready for me to holler into later for the show, and just as I'm finished, the guitar comes loose from the strap, and hits the edge of the Media Club stage at such an angle, that not only the neck, but the headstock busts completely off the body of the guitar. Mike stopped playing, Dustin didn't move, and Shaun, the soundman came over to me, and tried to say some kind words to make me feel better about the situation. Here we were, a couple hours away from showtime, and I had broken my favorite guitar in 3 different pieces. I walked offstage, still saying nothing, paced the room three different times, and finally felt the need to belt out a ear-pinching "FUCK!" Half an hour later, on my way to pick up a rental guitar from Long & McQuade, our opening band, Fiction Like Candy, from San Francisco, calls me with the news that I was really expecting from the beginning: "We're stuck at the border, and they won't let us bring our instruments across." Shitty balls. More bad luck. "Karma Police, arrest this man he talks in maths..." I suppose I was just getting my due for any (all) wrong-doings I've ever done.
