Rabia Contra La Máquina

Did you know that there's a mariachi metal cover band called Metalachi? No, for real. They exist and they do like legit shows and shit. For serious. Here's a video of them performing their rendition of "Master of Puppets."

Delma and I went to go see them last night. We didn't actually see them, but we went to see them (a distinction I'll clear up in a bit, just be patient, Jesus, you kids these days with your cloud technology and your #OMY2SYG). They were performing at Trees which is a pretty neat venue with a balcony and an older wooden stage and a curtain that can be used to cut off the two-piece bluesy-folky opening band if the fedora-wearing lead guitarist tries to take the liberty of performing an extra song.

Doors opened at 7, so we got there at 8 figuring the show would start shortly after. Half an hour for the opening band, half an hour for stage setup/sound check/suspense building, then Metalachi would take the stage for an hour and we'd be in bed by 10:30 to get a full seven hours of sleep. Just enough to be well rested for the daily grind of that 9-5. Easy peezy lemon squeezey.

The bluesy-folk band started at 8:30. They played for about forty-five minutes. I actually really liked them. It was just fedora guitar man and an insane drummer that started toking up on stage. A power move, in my book. And in my blog. Mostly my blog though, cus I haven't written a book. Yet.

Then they tried to play an extra song and the curtains were closed and Delma and I looked around aimlessly, holding our empty beer cans. A 312 and a PBR, for those who are curious (I'll Photoshop a fedora on your head if you can correctly guess who drank what).

The crowd was made up of an eclectic mix of people. A nice, diverse sample population, with one common characteristic: they all looked seventeen. Delma and I were the outliers.

I don't have verifiable proof, but I'm fairy certain (like 69% certain) we were the oldest people there. Everyone around us looked like they were still in high school. One kid looked like he was twelve. I could have been his dad.

I COULD. HAVE BEEN. HIS DAD.

At around 9:15, the place started getting packed and a few older dudes walked in, but still, man… The last time I went someplace where I was one of the oldest people there, it was for my cousin's 9th birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese.

Then the second band came on and I realized my mistake in calculating our bedtime. Which was the fact that there was a second band (they called themselves the Mad Mexicans and every song sounded like a Rage Against the Machine song, except a lot of the songs were in Spanish and they had one song called Chinga La Migra and, at one point, the lead singer said "This goes out to all the single mothers out there working their asses off to enjoy just one fucking night of the week. Tonight is your night!" I'm no single mother, but I genuinely appreciated that sentiment).

A second band meant that Metalachi wouldn't take the stage for another ninety-minutes. And there was no way we were going to stay until 11PM to watch Metalachi. We had to work the next day.

WE HAD. TO WORK. THE NEXT DAY.

After two more songs from the Mad Mexicans (some of their lyrics: "You in my way like a pinche guey. Don't want to hear what you got to say"), I turned to Delma and said "I can't take this anymore."

It was late. It was loud. It was crowded. And I can only listen to two Rage Against the Machine songs in a single sitting (usually Bulls on Parade and Killing in the Name).

At 9:45PM on a Sunday night, we left Trees. We slept a healthy seven hours. Woke up at 5:30. I ran two miles and had greek yogurt and scrambled eggs for breakfast.

It was a sobering realization that I am no longer a spring chicken. Part of it is the 9-5 (it's hard to function when you're running on three hours of sleep and a Red Bull). But the other part, the scary part, is that I actually wanted to be in bed instead of at the show.

Responsible. Sensible. Accountable.

Those words could be used to describe me now. Ten years ago, the words would have been: aimless, late, frivolous.

I'm not 100% responsible (maybe only like 69%) and, at times, I can still be frivolous and late.

But, last night, I consciously chose sleep over metal mariachi.

Let that sink in.

Everyone grows up.

I just never thought it would happen to me.