I live in this concrete jungle known as Hollywood, and more than frequently I have to make it a point to escape this metropolitan crack den. I'm not sure if any of you have been to Hollywood, but this place is nothing like it is on TV: homeless dudes dressed up as superheroes that smell like chili cheese fries and piss, wannabe gangsters that harass you to buy CDs of their horrid rap music, tourists as smart as a flock of pigeons -- that's Hollywood Blvd. And on a good day you'll see Danny Bonaduce stumbling around drunk.
A few weeks ago I went to my hometown of Columbus, Ohio for a brief vacation to get away from the L.A. hustle. As I was driving up I-71, my good friend Dorothy -- she helps me film Ryan's Rock Show interviews -- played an Ohio band that made me reminisce on some crazy memories. Remember Dead Poetic? Well, I was always into their music in high school; they were never one of my favorite bands or anything, but they were cool to listen to. And in a weird way the band had a significant impact on my life. I mean, if it wasn't for them I'd probably be in college right now playing beer pong with a clean cut Hollister-looking dude that calls everyone “brah” and says “hella” after every sentence. Allow me to explain.
During my senior year of high school my parents told me that they couldn't afford to pay the mortgage and that our farm (yes, I grew up on a farm) would get foreclosed on later in the year. I was pretty devastated thinking that homelessness was in the immediate future, so I called up a friend and started bitching. His only suggestion: “Dead Poetic is playing a show tonight. Let’s go check them out to get away from the bullshit.”
The thing about the Dead Poetic show was… it was two hours away in some random Ohio hick town. So we decided that it was only appropriate to turn this couple hour drive into a mini road trip. We raided the nearest Kroger for cases of Mountain Dew and honey mustard pretzels, and brought along plenty of tunes from Norma Jean and Hopesfall. Then we drove…
We drove two hours through back roads and cornfields and got completely lost once the sun went down. In a time where cell phones with GPS capabilities were non-existent, the only form of reliable navigation was a print of MapQuest directions -- and everyone knows that MapQuest sucks. There wasn’t a gas station in sight; there wasn’t a McDonalds in sight. We were fucked.
Months went by...
Two weeks after I graduated high school in 2003, the county sheriff took over my parents’ farm. My family moved to Tampa, FL to live with my grandparents, and I moved to L.A. to go to college. "Four Wall Blackmail" was still in my CD rotation.
Now I don’t know about you people, but my college experience fucking sucked -- it was pretty much like high school all over again. I mean, the girls were way hornier which was cool, but overall college blew nuts like that band Toad The Wet Sprocket. All I really wanted to do was drop out of school, play music, and tour -- I just didn't have balls to do it.
Towards the end of my first college semester, Dead Poetic booked a gig at the Showcase Theater in Corona, CA. I begged a friend at school (who apparently works for KROQ now??) to take me to the show, which was ironically two hours away in L.A. traffic. I told him about my Ohio cornfield fiasco during my last attempt to see the band, and he sympathetically agreed to be my chauffeur. Then we drove…
Dead Poetic’s set was pretty sick. And for those 45 minutes, my homesickness was put at ease. After the show I went up to Brandon -- who remembered me from the Ohio gig -- and told him how much my life sucked. After all, I was a lonely 18 year old 1000 miles away from home, could barely get laid, and only cared about one thing: music.
I'll never forget the conversation I had with him. He looked me in the eye and basically said dude, to be happy you need to take risks and “grow a thick skin.” Such simple words made me realize one important thing: I was such a pussy.
That night I looked at myself in the mirror and thought damn, Tony Robbins would smack the shit out of me for moping around like this. It was time to stop being such a wuss. It was time to grow that thick skin.
The next day I quit college. I began writing new music and started booking a tour. To this day, dropping out of school has been one of the top three most important decisions I’ve made in my life. Now I’m not recommending any of you undergrads to tell your school counselor to fuck off tomorrow morning -- but for me, these experiences have laid down the foundation in which Ryan’s Rock Show was built upon. And to give credit where it’s due, I owe Dead Poetic for killing my inner pussy.
My mom still bitches at me to go back to school and get a degree. The truth is, though living in Hollywood is crazy, it’s a hella good time. Besides, it ain’t ever too late for Hollister and beer pong, brah.