Lived to laugh, play music, learn, enjoy the company of friends, and deeply loved his family.
Played guitar for the_Network.
Left nothing behind.
Yea, anyone can be put into a written description of under twenty words, and usually are, but what sick pricks out there reading the obituaries? The text is just far too dull. I need a good story to get to know something about a person. I need something real, funny, and with truth to it. If I’m going to meet someone, I don’t want to be in the cheap seats. No, I want the grand, $20 tour. You better give me a reason to care about your next spoken or written word. You better give me scripture.
So think of this as Kevin 1.11
Of course I’ll get into the fact that I was kicked out of the Murderfest at The Knitting Factory in Hollywood yesterday, but let’s start at the beginning.
I’m the type of person that, when sober, washes his hands and douses them in hand sanitizer and, when drunk, pisses with the predictability of a volcano. I try to stay happy, in shape, well read, friendly, hard working, concerned about global issues, understanding, on time. I try to develop meaningful relationships, be creative, spend time with my family, stay up to date on current events, have my own, well-informed opinion, and be articulate.
I’m proud of graduating from college, playing in a band, and I hate to hurt people emotionally or physically and can’t stand feeling like a burden to anyone. I try to think things through. I look on the bright side. I want to catch the worm. I want to be pleasing to all five senses. I want to be the dead center of a tornado of inequality. I want to light up the place. You know what I mean. I want to be fucking NORMAL.
Yes, I’ve been diagnosed with insomnia. I’m currently awaiting a DWI trial. I’ve hurt people. I’ve let people down. I’ve been a burden. I learn everything the hard way. I’ve felt like the sun doesn’t rise. I’ve broken down. I’ve had to apologize. I’ve done and incurred damage. I have to pay for a smashed window in Santa Cruz. I’ve wished for better times. I’ve felt as if every star in the sky was staring at me. I’ve felt safe. I’ve felt like the whole world was a shaded spot under a tree made just for me. I’ve screwed up. I have, and will continue, to live in a constant state of learning. Through ups and downs, I’m taking notes. I’m not going to cheat; I’m going to study.
Yesterday, the band I play guitar in, the_Network, was booked at the Murderfest in Hollywood. Napalm Death headlined. Today is the Day, Trap Them, Cattle Decapitation and many others were on the bill.
Yesterday’s show was the reason we’ve been on the road for a week and won’t be home for another. I’d been looking forward to this show for months. Our set time was 4:35 pm on the main stage and we arrived at the venue around 10:45 am. With that knowledge, I began synthesizing a drinking formula (I enjoy a few chardonnay’s before performing, what of it?).
My plan was to eat something and wait until 1:00 pm to have my first beer. Then, I’d have two beers an hour until we took the stage. I also factored in that I’d take three shots of Jack Daniels at various points throughout the allotted time.
The time came, and I went to the bar. Our vocalist, Mikey Bones, also went to get a glass of water. I used a credit card to open a tab and ordered a Bud Light. The bartender gave me my beer, Bones his water, and then asked us if we’d like a shot as he began pouring three shots of whiskey.
A new variable.
I took the shot down and began work on the formula. Things started well. Ryan and Brian from Trap Them showed up and I had to buy them shots--them being from New Hampshire and all. It was during this that I might have slipped another shot past the formula. The numbers began shifting and losing their shape in my mind.
I had to get away from the bar for a bit. I had a beer with me when I realized that Today is the Day had shown up and that I could probably go kill some time talking to Steve Austin. He was in the back room reserved for the headlining bands but I was somehow allowed in. Him and I chatted it up over a few bowls of weed.
So much extraneous data began clogging the mechanics of my skull and the formula was becoming harder and harder to hold on to. So, around 3:30, I stupidly thought to myself, “Wow, I should probably take a shot or two before we play.”
I woke up in the van seven hours later.
From the rest of the night on, I was to play Sherlock Holmes in the film adaptation of “What the Fuck Happened to Kev?” Based on witness reports and some dreamy images in my mind, I believe the story went thusly:
“Kevin Howley, age 28, NH resident, went to buy a bottled water around 4:15pm and was told that the waters cost $1. Upon hearing this information, the suspect then threw a sign indicating the water’s price off of the bar. He was escorted outside while the bartender accessed the situation inside. He then tried to push his way through the employees outside in order to get to the stage. He was again leisurely escorted outside. He remained cooperative but complained vocally when accused of trying to punch somebody. It was approximately 5:00 pm when he gave up hope of getting back into the venue and retreated to the van.”
Bones had to cover my $61 bar tab, my band had to play missing a member, and I completely screwed up something I had been looking forward to for a long time. Again, I was stupid. But here I am, taking notes while apologizing to the_Network. They’re my best friends. I think they know I’m a good guy, and now I hope you do too.