Kate was sitting with her guitar, slightly nervous in a small room and playing in front of 500 people from around the world. Not many (if any) people have heard of her in the music industry, even though every time she plays it’s in front of adoring fans willing to throw money at her. All Kate needs to make thousands of dollars every week is a guitar, a good voice, a webcam and an internet connection to rake in the dollars from excited people from all over the world – although naturally her main demographic are middle-aged men, lonely at home or the office desk. I’ve stumbled across someone who is making more money from the music industry as a singer than anyone I know. ‘Sex Sells’ has never been more a fitting term for the way she’s topping the ‘webcam’ charts/stats via popular Webcam sites. Sure her voice is quite nice, and admittedly she’s not really original or singing her own material – but when has that ever stopped entertainers in the music industry making money? I bet before you finish this sentence you can think of an “entertainer” who sings other people’s songs, half-naked whose voice is far from pitch perfect. That sentence would be true for any generation. If I wrote this in the 80s you would probably think Madonna, if I wrote this 5 years ago it would be Rihanna; but while I’m writing this all I can think about is a poor little rich girl swinging on a chain and getting photographed by the world’s creepiest photographer. I’m not telling you to buy a skimpy dress, a webcam and get your tits out while you cover your favourite Damien Rice song – I’m just saying there are still ways to make money in music being independent, even though the big boys are slowly making it harder for everyone else. Continue reading
There are many different reasons, but the last Guttermouth tour I organized took almost 9 months to finally set in a contract and announce. One of the reasons is that there were a lot more stakeholders involved than when I first toured the band. For years it was just about getting dates booked with venues, booking the travel, doing the visas, promoting and then giving Guttermouth a cut at the end of the tour. This time I had investors, a co-promoter and a longer tour to work with. For the first time ever I had to negotiate with the band as other promoters, like Hits and Pits Festival, were making good offers. I consider them my friends but it’s still a business too, so I can understand why they’d take a look at other offers. Continue reading
When I first got an iPhone I was excited about a little application that lets you pop bubble wrap. Boy, times have changed. Every couple of months there seems to be a new App that everyone on the street is talking about. Snap Chat seemed so stupid at first, but the addiction soon followed once you started pressing down on the right names. I learned how some of my friends were extremely creative. At the same time got to know meaningless information like what stupid song they were singing, what dumb TV show they were watching instead of going out or worst of all – their stupid fucking pets. I seriously don’t give a fuck about your dumb dog playing with a ball EVERY FUCKING DAY. Oh your cat is sleeping is it? My thoughts of you have skyrocketed now I know you’re having a quiet beer by yourself on your couch! Oh that band sounds fucking amazing through my iPhone speakers! The lighting looks so fucking great too and I can tell everyone is having so much fun, I wish I was there!!!
Delete… Continue reading
An ex-heroin junkie once said to me “paradise is fucking boring” as we were overlooking a beautiful island off the coast of New Zealand. While the crazy mother fucker is usually quite annoying with his opinions, after an hour or two I would tend to agree. You can look at beautful scenery for as long as you like, but until you have someone to talk to about it – paradise can indeed be fucking boring. I love meeting new people all over the world, and the stories they’ve shared with me wouldn’t fit on a postcard. I haven’t been home for a long time and I’m starting to miss my bed, my housemates and having somewhere to chill out – but I consider myself lucky. Currently I’m travelling with loud, drunk English girls – who at times I’d like to drop them off at Wolfe Creek and drive away, but that’s what happens when you’ve been on the road for so long with the same people – cabin fever. Throughout August I was luckily enough to go on Tour with Guttermouth throughout Australia. To unwind from that I decided to take a Wicked Camper down the East Coast and relax. It’s not exactly relaxing with three loud English lasses, but I’d say it will end up memorable. Due to my lack of internet on the road this will have to be really short. Continue reading
If you had talked to me a few months ago, a couple of years ago or maybe even last week I would have told you how much dislike I have for the music industry. It’s definitely a love/hate relationship and a girlfriend I can’t seem to want to leave – no matter how much she has punished me. After a decade in the industry pushing people’s buttons, filling out rooms with excited crowds and keeping bands happy in empty ones; it’s safe to say I wouldn’t know half of my great friends without it. This week I embark on a tour with one of California’s longest running punk bands, Guttermouth – it’s the 4th time I’ve been on the road with them in Australia, but things will be slightly different. For the first time I’ll be able to sit back, drink, relax and write about the whole story while Glenn Eloranta does all the hard work on the road.
This is one band where groupies don’t really flow, and that’s for the simple fact that Guttermouth care more for friends rather than being “rockstars”. Everyone who has ever met the guys will know they love spending time and hanging out with people all over their favourite country and second home of Australia. I can share one travel story that happened in California though, but please don’t judge me. Probably too late… Continue reading
I have been getting so many emails lately about the Bam tour so I thought I’d just start answering your questions online, as they’re pretty similar. If you have anything you want to ask please email firstname.lastname@example.org or follow my twitter (www.twitter.com/glennstewarts)
Ryan Shores is a Comedian and Author from San Diego who stumbled upon my blog. He has asked the following questions -
Chad left because bam was treating him poorly. What was he doing to treat him poorly? Continue reading
I know that I haven’t been the best housemate one could possibly live with.
Hell, I could possibly be a nightmare or fall into the cliché category of a love/hate relationship when it comes to sharing the same roof over your head with me.
I am actually quite reserved when I live at home and tend to stick to myself; until alcohol is consumed or there’s a good film playing in the lounge room.
I start off clean but then get messy if the house chores aren’t shared equally. I think a lot of people are kind of like that. Let’s not get into details of what it’s like living with me. Let’s instead share experiences I’ve had living with around 100 people in the last 3 years. I’ve talked about the crack head in Mexico before, talked about living in a house where we were involved in the porn industry and written in detail about how some housemates are absolutely terrible to live with; not that I have had that problem for a while. Instead I will talk about how shit I could possibly be to live with. Continue reading
The first proper gig I put on caused nearly the same amount of stress as it does when I put on a tour now. I was stubborn, green and part of a handful of people trying to do something with our small city of Toowoomba. 2013 has marked 10 years since I booked my first act, Area 7, for a fee of $4000 to play an outdoor festival in the middle of Queens Park. The guy I booked it through called me the day after they played – “They’re not going to fucking play for free mate, where’s our payment?” Continue reading
For most of you it’s probably ridiculous getting a tattoo of over 50 names across my arm, but words can’t express how grateful I am that you’ve helped me get to where I am right now. If I’m ever feeling blue in the future I’ll be able to look at my arm and remember that I was once on the best adventure of my life – something hardworking families spend years saving up for. My arm is inked with stick figures, cartoons and words that mean nothing. Soon I’ll be proud to have the names of many written all the way down my arm as a reminder that people have gone out of their way to help me be in a place I’ve always dreamt of. Words can’t express how thankful I am right now. This has been a great journey of trying to figure out where I want to be and what it is I want to do with the rest of my life. I still haven’t figured it out exactly but I know that I miss my friends back home in Brisbane and can’t wait to see them again, but I’m not ready to come home just yet. I possibly have a tour in June, but my next official tour won’t be ‘til August. That’s a long time between nothing.
Our Wicked Camper was christened the night before our departure but Tom didn’t seem to mind that our bed, for the next couple of months, had been dirtied. Our plan was to live as simply as possible for this whole road trip, but we haven’t exactly been “roughing” it. The first night we stayed at Tom’s cousin’s house in Byron Bay, who wasn’t going to be home that night anyway. She had a quick beer with us before she went to her friends and told us to make ourselves at home – so that’s exactly what we did. The owner of the house was a chef who ran a catering company from home, so we had access to pretty much every ingredient known to man. We also had a huge TV, high speed internet and a warm and cozy be in a massive house in Byron Bay – all to ourselves. After having an afternoon beer with Tom’s cousin, who he hasn’t seen in years he found out that he was part Aboriginal – at the start of our journey to Uluru. I’m not sure about the history or culture of indigenous Australian’s, but I remember something about young Aboriginal people getting drawn to the Outback. Continue reading
Rape is a touchy subject which shouldn’t be taken lightly. I’m still not sure if what happened in an Adelaide hotel room one hot December could be classed as forced sex, or a surprise sex attack. Now I’m just trying to think of nicer words so I don’t have to use the word ‘rape’ again. I guess we’ll use ‘surprise sex attack’, because it’s a much nicer term. You may or may not be able to tell, but I am somewhat uncomfortable with this story so I’m rambling on. Continue reading
Burning the candle at both ends is an understatement when I look back on what could be the most hectic three weeks of my life. The people involved on this tour could be more likened to putting a shitty little birthday candle under a rocket. “There were too many drugs on the tour. And things seem to be in control when everybody was high at the same time, but after seeing people come down and the drama and not giving respect to others it kind of bummed me. I mean… If nothing else I did take a hard look at myself. Reminded myself that I hoped I never got in that point in life where I felt like I was above anybody else… And to that point where drugs take over who I really am.” said Sara Fabel, part of the touring party in Victoria.
I don’t even know where to start. Bam Margera was drunk on arrival, drunk on tour and drunk on departure. He’s in Bali now and I can only guess that he’s still drunk. But who am I to judge? One quick read over my blog will show that I’m not exactly a saint. The difference is there are not as many eyes on me, if any at all. Without getting all Tarentino and starting at the end; on the last night we all tripped on this drug called 25i, part of some family of drugs that completely fuck you up. This guy handed out the drug to me earlier in the night. I was instructed to put a white sheet of paper above my top teeth and on my gums for around 15 minutes. Know this first – I fucking hate acid and never wanted to experience anything like a trip that I had a few years ago. Rhys assured me that it was nothing like acid, which to be honest I think it was kind of similar. It was nowhere near as bad as acid but it was definitely intense for me when I first started tripping in crappy night clubs and bars in Cairns.
It was just terrible to be around drunken people. When I came back to the hotel we were staying at Bam, his girlfriend Nikki, his good mate Louie Kovach and Matty J (cKy bass player) were all a bit drunk. I was so happy to see them and I think my energy and happiness around them made them want to try out this drug, which has only been around since 2003. I could go on forever about this night, but to cut a longwinded tale short it really fucked Bam up. At the time it was probably a bad thing but I think it almost cleansed him and made him think about the track he’s going down or heading towards. Going back to what I said earlier, imagine yourself tripping out on a drug like this that makes regular Joe paranoid or being someone like Bam Margera who constantly has the attention of everyone in the room. “Bam is his own person and doesn’t like when people are constantly worried or thinking about him” said Louie, a longtime friend of Bam’s. Towards the end of my night, but in the middle of Bam’s drug trip I heard a loud scream coming from downstairs. It was Bam jumping on Louie thinking that he was about to die. “I’m going to die! I’m doing to die!” Bam screamed before jumping on Louie and holding him tightly believing his own words. The next day Bam had his Tarot cards read and seemed somewhat a changed man. I’ll get more into that at on a later blog.
I’ve mentioned this to so many people already but it’s completely true; I had more stories and situations within the first two days of this tour than I have had with any of my tours combined. Drama, stress, chaos, sex, drugs, drugs, drugs, and rock ‘n roll sums up this tour in a big fucking nutshell. What I saw through Rhys’s footage wasn’t the crazy guys from Jackass, it was a dramatic, drug fueled, punk rock road trip that was possibly the best experience I’ve ever fucking had. After being kicked out of 4 hotel rooms in 3 different cities our travel agent would no longer work with us. Our publicist quit halfway through the tour, and returned towards the end. The guitarist quit with 3 shows to go and the support band was fired by Brandon Novak over a impolite phone conversation on the way to our Brisbane show. The problem was the support band provided all of our amps, gear, guitars and drum kit – so essentially we’ve lost a lot of ground and as the manager it made my job a lot fucking harder.
Because this tour had too many stories I wanted to make this blog entry brief. I wanted to space it over time so I get everything down on paper and don’t forget a thing. I had to deal with drug addicts, weird drug dealers, almost 20 different police officers, angry hotel management, crazy groupies, fake promoters, rough security guards, terrified venue managers and a wide array of people that will make this crazy story make more sense.
The most important thing I wanted to write about in this post was an apology to my close and long friends who have been with me no matter what I am doing. The friends who I lose contact with when I go on something like this because of my own exhaustion. Time management and keeping calm is something I am going to learn to do over time, but I understand that when I do this next I need to take time out of the hectic schedule to let my friends and family know and understand that I love them and although they don’t hear from me directly, I am thinking about them constantly. I met hundreds of people on this tour that acted like they were my best friends, and I know that once the tour ended I wouldn’t hear from 80% them again until I start my next adventure.
Looking through Rhys’s footage I can almost see a tale of self-destruction rather than a group of crazy guys having a good time. I’m no expert, in fact I am wrong a fair bit – but I can see two things happening; Bam will either die within the next year if he keeps going the way he is going. Now as a friend of Bam’s I don’t want to see that happening, and neither do his close friends and family. “I’m worried that I’ll get a call waking me up at night and it will be a bad one” said April Margera on the phone to me, worried about her son, a brother, and a friend of many.
Forget all the bad press that you have heard or read about – it’s bullshit. Forget about what I’ve said about Bam in my own anger and venting. Behind the celebrity is a kind-hearted, loving guy who wants people around him to be happy and nothing else. There are road bumps and unexpected twists and turns in his life, but he’s just a normal guy who has been through more than most of us combined. I’m now happy and comfortable calling him a mate and I want to be a part of leading him down the right track. He has opened up a lot of doors for myself and many others and there’s no way in hell I’ll be closing any doors on him and letting people believe in all the bullshit that people have said on social networking and shitty newspapers.
This is an introduction and one of many blogs I want to post about this tour. I know I have a lot of “part 1’s” in my blog but this blog hasn’t even started yet. Right now I am in some shitty bar in Sydney having a $3 wine, and tonight I’ll be sleeping in a camper van. Tomorrow I’m not sure where I am heading but over the next week I’ll try and post many blogs about the tour to try and sum up exactly what happened. I’m still exhausted and still coming down from an amazing experience that unfortunately not many people will get to have. I love you all though.
“Boot camp was the most draining thing I have ever done physically. This tour was the most draining thing I have ever done mentally” – Leon Hill (publicist), 2013.
Thanks for reading!
I have a massive hangover. This hangover is so massive it reminds me of the time I had a hangover this badly when I was in New York.
Let me go back a little further though. I met this girl who played in this pretty popular band from America, and she came with me to a small acoustic show in Melbourne while she was on tour. The reason I mentioned that she was in a band is because I didn’t really think I’d have a chance to hit on her, and didn’t think for a second she’d like me; actually, I rarely ever pick up vibes that a person likes me. She was buying me a beer at the bar, and after I slammed down my beer I thought we should go a little bit closer to the stage. I just took her hand and directed her with me towards the front of the crowded, but small bar. When we got as close as we could possibly go, without annoying too many people, she continued to hold my hand. It was awesome because she clearly didn’t want to let go, but it was bad timing because I had to pee really badly and I was out of beer. I didn’t want to let go but my bladder was telling me otherwise, and I knew that continuous confidence would need a lot more beer now I’ve covered the hard part of knowing if she was into me or not. A fair few people at the venue knew who she was because they had seen her playing a couple of days beforehand. I’m not going to lie – I felt slightly cocky at the time and had a slight smug look on my face – the smug look people get when they wear ray bans. Continue reading
In the last year two years I have partied more than a lot of people combined and – being on the wrong side of my 20s – I often think about where it’s all going. I was a late bloomer with drinking and an even later bloomer with illicit drugs. Well I have now blossomed with drinking and am quite fond of it both in taste and perhaps in needing it to hold a normal conversation with people. Worried yet? I am.
I have really started hating it when I hear “YOLO” coming from people’s mouths. It makes me cringe and sometimes the internet just really fucking annoys me. “That awkward moment” on facebook when a joke is like a big penis that just pisses out the same joke until it is all dried up and the people who still wait above the toilet even though there is no more pee left. That’s a pretty annoying way of looking at things, but social networking can take something quite clever and let the masses ruin it. I never thought anything in this world would make me hate cute photos of kittens – but once again I’ve been proven wrong. Fuck I get proven wrong a lot. Not the point of this blog though.
The other day I had 6 beer bongs before work and still managed to hold myself together and even sober up quite quickly. It wasn’t because I needed to drink to be able to handle work, it was because my mates were having a good time and I wasn’t going to let a little time hurdle stop me from having fun. The following Sunday my friend had a party at a bar in Brisbane called The Yardbird. This is a tattooed/American themed bar that has a nice distance from the rat-race in Brunswick Street Mall. People from outside Brisbane can’t believe how many people The Valley attracts on the weekends. Having so many clubs aimed at douche bags and then putting them in somewhat of a sardine can is a recipe for disaster – and the police reports can probably concur. Fuck I just remembered my experience with the Valley Police: I just did half a gram of speed in the x&y toilets with some friends and after the venue closed we walked back to the last place open in the valley, RGs. My friend who started working at Ric’s pointed at the fridge at the back of the venue and informed us that it was open. Being high, drunk and confident I decided to open the fridge up and steal a carton (or slab, case…depending on origin) of beer. I got about 15 meters and heard someone yelling “Oi!!!” at the top of their lungs. I very gently placed the carton of beer down and started to run. I now have to point out that I was wearing a brand new pair of jeans that were way too small for me and made it almost impossible to run properly. I was also intoxicated and sweating a lot from the drugs that stung my nose earlier. Fuck, half of me is really wanting to point out that I’m actually a good bloke. Moving on; as I started to run the girls I was with were yelling at me to RUN – and I fucking tried. There is a tiny traffic island in the middle of Brunswick Street and I fell right over it as I tried to out-run the three security guards behind me. My tight pants made me legs extend much less than they can so I probably looked like the biggest idiot trying to run away from them.
They picked me up from the ground, forcefully pushed and held my right hand down while the one other put my left arm behind my back. I’m not sure why I needed so much force or people to drag me back to the venue – all it needed was one guy to hold my hand and I would have walked back with him. I certainly wasn’t going to try running again. Here is a picture of how violent and strong I look:
Kate, Bell and Poofter Mike (this is what I call my gay cousin) were yelling so hard at the security guards. Mike was actually filming the whole thing on his iPhone and perhaps if he’s reading this he can link it – if he still has it. The manager at the time, an Indian fellow who actually sounded really bogan, was advising the guards to take me to the back of the bar. I once worked at Ric’s and I know exactly what a lot of the boneheads did to people they took to the back of the venue. One guard told me he his “secret spot” where there were no cameras – although I’m sure it’s not there anymore. He apparently could get away with anything there. I think because Poofter Mike was filming the whole thing they decided to take me to the police station. While they were dragging me down I politely said to the nicer looking bonehead “hey mate, that’s hurting my hand a little, could you please loosen up a bit” and to his credit he did. They took me inside the police station and the female officer took one look at the guards and said “why are you holding him like that?” and forced him to let me go. Once the guards left the Police Beat the cops gave me a blank piece of paper and said “just waive that around if you walk past RGs, and go home”. And that I did.
I have never attempted robbery since. Well, that’s a lie. I hope Mr Pauls Milk himself isn’t reading this but I make a point of stealing a small chocolate milk every time I go into Coles or Woolworths. Just drinking it, putting the empty bottle on another rack and paying for my overpriced goods at the check-out. I’ve probably done this 100 times and I’ve never been caught. Fuck you Coles!
That’s one of a few regrettable drunk stories I have. Another was quite recent which inspired me to write the blog in the first place. I was hanging out with all of my friends at Yardbird and some girl put her phone in my face, showed me a blog I wrote over a year ago and were basically being bitches. I called her a cunt and walked away, actually I might have gone back once more to say sorry but I think I reacted badly again to her comments. To be honest I can’t remember. All I know is that once I called people the “C” word then it’s time for me to get my things and leave. I was almost blackout drunk, reckless and rude. I am never violent, nor will I ever be – but no one deserves to be called that even if it’s apt. Someone informed me the next day there were being bitches and put me in a corner, but still. If she’s reading this I am genuinely sorry for calling you that and hope that I never get in that situation again. I’ve cut down drinking a fair bit since that Sunday night. I still drink but I am definitely trying to cut down on drinking so much that I forget what I’m doing.
OK, so the point of writing this blog was to try and work out whether it’s better for me to take drugs or to stop drinking alcohol as much. People have tried to show me how great it is being sober and healthy, living on the beach and just enjoying life, but it’s not for me. I wouldn’t have met some of the most amazing people and being in some extraordinary experience if I wasn’t somewhat drunk or high. I’m not condoning it either. I am quite shy, awkward and quiet if I’m completely sober. It’s not fun meeting people if I’m like that. Sure, people can say that I should just be myself, but you’re not me and it’s impossible to function properly in a social setting without a bit of poison in my body. And to go back to annoying sayings I was talking about earlier – you do only live once. As cliché as it is, it’s true. But this lifestyle isn’t for everybody.
No one should hurt anyone FULL-STOP/PERIOD/WHATEVER. If you know that you get a little bit rough or violent on drugs and alcohol then it’s your responsibility to moderate your intake or not do take anything at all. I very much believe in karma and I’m quite superstitious but I have never punched someone, been in a fight nor have I been punched. I am touching so much wood at the moment hoping that some dickhead out there isn’t reading this thinking that you could give Glenn his first black eye, but I’d like my life to continue like that. My lifestyle is my choice and I’m going to continue having as much fun in this world as possible and hurting no one along the way – at least not intentionally. Calling someone a cunt is where I draw the line and need to go home and reassess my choices though. The next day all I could think about was her family and how her grandparents would react if they heard me calling their grandchild such a name. Apparently she deserved it and perhaps I’m looking far too deep into this but I certainly will try not putting myself in a position like that where I’m confident in name calling. I had so many shots that night so perhaps cutting my shot intake down to half. Now I’m not sure what I’m even talking about…
That was a bad alcohol experience. I’ve probably had less bad experience with drugs but they’re still bad nonetheless. I feel like I’ve talked about nothing for this whole blog so I will try and keep one of my bad ecstasy experiences as short as possible. In fact I have such a bad memory I’ve probably written about this before:
We were going to a party that ended up being so big it ended up getting its own title – Miltonpalooza. It’s named after the suburb called Milton, for those who aren’t from Brisbane. My friends were actually playing a show at this party and we all bought pills to slam for the party, and they were big and blue. That’s all I remember about the look of them. A few of us had taken them and immediately had a pretty hectic reaction that included shaking and hallucinations. Alex was about to play drums in his band and we all warned him not to take them because he wouldn’t be able to play properly, but if there’s one thing bad I can say about Alex it is that he never listens to anyone. He snorted them like it was his last meal, which doesn’t really make sense unless that was the only way he was allowed to enjoy life while he was on his death bed. There I go again talking about nothing! Where was I again? OK, so this is actually a boring story when I think about it. I had two other friends doing the drugs with me so and for some reason all of our ex-girlfriends turned up at the party, along with people that we liked or had previously slept with. One girl I slept with the week before and I was so high that I called her a completely different name, and her friend who already hated me yelled “Um, did you just call her <insert name here>?” The next morning we were all shaking, depressed and felt like we had fucked up any chance of fixing things with the girls we actually liked. What a day. I had more to add to this but really can’t be fucked at the moment. I have to go to work. Come in and have a beer.
I thought I’d talk about the time I took Mushrooms driving up the East Coast of Australia in 2010 with Guttermouth. My friend Ryan Farrell, who was drumming for the Californian band at the time, will also share his side of the story in another blog coming very soon. We thought we would write something together as we both took the same amount and type of drug.
I had never really thought about doing Mushrooms. The thought of something growing out of cow shit never seemed very appealing. I am still coming to terms with girls shitting so I’m sure as hell not going to be into eating something that stems from it. And I’m not trying to be chauvinistic or outside reality. I understand that girls do that, but I just don’t like the thought of it. And that’s the same with thinking about males doing it as well. I don’t mean to put my foot into unsavoury territory – but the thought grosses me out. I also hate people who don’t wash their hands after using the bathroom, I hate stainless steel toilets, I had the smell of vomit and I think everyone should shower properly at least twice a day. So where was I? Mushrooms, Mushies, Shrooms… is there any other nick names? I’m just not that down with street talk when it comes to drugs but for the rest of the story I’ll use “shrooms” as it rolls off the tounge better even though it makes me sound slightly bogan. I have a fucking tattoo of a drunk koala on my neck so I’m sure people kind of expect me to be a little bogan.
We arrived in Nimbin, I’m guessing, in the mid afternoon. The sun was still shining and if you haven’t been to Nimbin before it has beautiful mist all through the mountains that surround the little hippy town. We had played 10 shows in row before this day and we were making the trip from Sydney to Gold Coast to just chill for the next couple of days. I know that sometimes using the word “chill” can be annoying but that’s exactly what we needed to do. It’s not that easy spending ten days on the road and having 10 – 15 hours collectively of loud punk music ruining any chance of being able to hear properly post 40 years of age. Most of the drives are between 5 and 9 hours long and I don’t want to get into the hygiene again but you can imagine what it’s like with 12 males cramped in a van in Australia’s summer. It’s better getting drunk and going with the flow than to attempt sleep while 11 other people are warming up to the next venue.
Nimbin is a slight detour on our trip to the Gold Coast but we wanted to get drugs. Alex who was drumming for Speedlab (he now has replaced Ryan on drums for Guttermouth) was sent out to gather some Schrooms or Acid. He came back literally 15 minutes later with an airtight, massive bag of dirty little mushrooms. We finished our beers and headed back en route to Meriton Hotel at Gold Coast, Queensland. Every time I brought a band out to Australia we seemed to completely fuck up the hotel rooms. Part of it is getting drunk and getting to know your new friends a little better, but the other part is probably because bands think this is all part of the “sex, drugs & rock and roll” lifestyle. And to be honest – it is, and it should be. The long drives, early starts and late night check-ins to hotels filter the groupies and sluts out somewhat, but the lifestyle is clearly there for the pickin’. Most venues give free booze and more often than not most of the blokes on the road are ready to booze and do drugs – so there’s ample opportunity to lose your inhabitation and just fucking party. Even saying that I like to “party” is irritating for people, but at the end of the day it’s normally quite harmless – at least to people around me when I party. Oh wait, I guess it’s pretty bad for my body but I’ll worry about that later.
We took the shrooms as soon as we got back into the car and I didn’t really notice anything for the first hour. I took a handful more and went to the front to sit with our driver Chris Cox (formally of Speedlab, Phalanx etc). If I can just talk about Chris for one moment: he has always been a strong, hardworking and loyal supporter of anything I’ve tried to do with music. I actually used Chris to play bass on the Leftover Crack tour in Australia because the usual bass player wasn’t allowed to fly out of New York. He has driven probably 100 hours for me over the time I’ve been organizing these tours and he is always the first person to have a beer with me. He stays pretty calm considering the circumstances we’ve both been in. I have one story to tell about a strip club in Sydney around 2008, but I will wait until his approval before I let anybody know. In a nutshell – Chris is a top bloke!
After two hours I started to feel something. I just couldn’t sit still and was kind of getting agitated in the passenger chair. My head was slightly flushed, and I was wide awake. I didn’t want to say anything though. It felt like the back of the bus was quiet and I didn’t know if the drugs were making me like this or if it was in my head. To me it was so quiet in the back. Fuck it! I turned around and yelled “dudes I am fucked! Is anyone else feeling anything” and with that sentence the whole back of the bus laughed loudly and agreed. And then it was on. We laughed at everything and of course everyone that had not taken the shrooms probably thought we were just fucking idiots. I guess it’s pretty similar to an acid trip, only slightly milder. I still saw rainbows when trying to flick through my iPhone contacts, and I was laughing so hard at anything that my head started hurting. After three hours we had to stop to take it all in. Chris quickly pulled over at some park near a river and Ryan jumped out and spewed everywhere. He does vomit all the time and granted the only other time I saw him vomit that much was after snorting heroin in Bangkok, but we had all taken too much because we didn’t really know what we were doing. Chris might be able to shed light on this, which I will happily add to this blog entry later, but we were probably annoying the fucking shit out of him by this stage. After a while Chris kind of gets impatient and yells “I actually have no idea where I’m going”. After he said that I pulled out my iPhone and opened the Compass App up to give to him. At the time it was the funniest thing that I’ve ever done. A couple of years later I still get a little chuckle out of it, and I hope that Chris does as well. Finally we see the bright, fake-californianesque lights of the Gold Coast and we work our way to the hotel. Rhys was directing a documentary and I’m pretty sure he was just making faces in the camera and finding new settings and visual effects –which in hindsight were kind of shitty once we sobered up. I had booked 3 rooms that day in this 5-star Apartment. The entry is quite lovely and only the people involved with this trip would remember the fucking stupid clothes I had bought at Nimbin and changed in to on the way up. Let’s just say I looked like an idiot fucking hippy (go frank turner!) as I somewhat floated from the loud van to the gorgeous reception area I locked eyes one on one with the receptionist at reservations. Some people know that I have a thing for eyes – but on mushrooms these were the best eyes I have ever fucking seen in my life hands down. I think I accidentally and awkwardly stared into her eyes for what seemed like 30 seconds. Now I’m standing there in love – the problem is that from her end she can see some form of hippie, not wearing shoes and staring at her like a huge fucking dickhead. I am quite confident in saying that she wasn’t staring into my eyes with the same feelings. Deep down I am a softy and every one of my good friends knows that. So it’s quite easy for me to fall in love – especially with something inside me heightening my emotions. I just couldn’t talk to her. I was having the famous “tripping out” moment I’ve heard guys talk about in the past while slamming a bong made from a Gatorade bottle on a Tuesday afternoon in Toowoomba.
I just couldn’t do it properly. From memory I had to get Rhys to help me out because I couldn’t think straight. All of a sudden about 20 asian folk entered through the sliding doors and in my mind it was more like 100 chickens fighting over chook-feed. And I’m not racist, but because I couldn’t speak Asian (edit – ‘any form of the beautiful Asian language – god I’m an idiot) all I heard was loud noises behind me and I just freaked out. Checking into a hotel with a band is always a problem, but I highly advise you not to do it whilst on any form of hallucinogenic drugs. I had taken way too many drugs and I needed hard liquor to help me relax. The next day I had lost Mark’s passport and our agent had completely fucked up some of our flights over to Asia. It wasn’t an easy next day, and there is actually more of a story I’d like to tell – permission pending. Until then I highly recommend being stress free when taking Shrooms. It was fun and I’d do it again, but not for a while. If anyone is interested in a Nimbin Road trip in the future let’s start organising.
Until a person I know allows me to write more about this tour – I might have to leave it there. If anyone is interested there is a preview of the documentary which shows Ryan vomiting in the park and me being fat and trying to break up a fight. I’d also like to note that the music in this clip is the shittest Guttermouth song in the world. Also it’s NSFW
No saying is more apt than “you either love it or hate it” when it comes down to my friend Candii Ray. Cheered on or frowned upon for her wild and taboo antics, Candii is no stranger to controversy and sticky situations all in the name of good fun. While she ignores her critics she has taken a break from the party life for a while until she rejuvenates her body “emotionally and physically”. Helping keep a smile on so many people can take its toll. Continue reading
You probably know the old adage about slappers, sluts and whores when comparing males to females, and I forget it exactly; if a key can open many locks it’s called a master key, however, if a lock can be opened by many keys it’s a shitty lock. It’s cliché as fuck but I’m going to attempt to do a blog about why women are called sluts if they fuck heaps of dudes, and why men are champion when their bragging starts on Sunday afternoon beers. Continue reading
I’m not sure why this huckleberry fag look has taken over Australia at the moment. Every time I go out guys are rolling their tight jeans up more and more, skirts are getting smaller and girls are getting younger. Sounds like a good recipe for some, however, for others like me it’s bordering on sad. I don’t want to condone drugs, and in particular ‘uppers’ but they do make Brisbane seem a bit more bearable. I think that’s because behind this keyboard is a pretty shy person who judges people if I’m stuck in a corner slamming a cheap, domestic beer with a few friends. And I’m definitely not saying that’s a good thing. Continue reading
If you were wondering what the most arrogant sub-culture in Brisbane and possibly Australia is – it’s the new influx of bikey’s. And it’s not the cool, bad-arse motorbike gangs, it’s the fags who clog up our streets between 5am and 8am every morning. First they clog up our streets with their stupid bikes and their stupid clothes with their dick all over the place; then they go home, jump in their massive cars and clog up our streets. I am pretty sure the government has spent millions of fucking dollars making dedicated spots for these wankers yet somehow they manage to always get in my way. I mean what is so fucking good about cycling anyway? Most of them seem to look down at the ground, and I think they’re going slightly too fast to take in the scenery around them… so what’s the point? Jump on a bloody exercise bike and save some space. Continue reading
When I was around 16 years old my friends and I were driving home from a basketball game in Gowrie Junction, about 15kms North-West of Toowoomba. Now I have always loved sports but have also been quite shit at it – and purely joined teams for fun. The council at the time had built this massive sports hall, which pretty much proved to be a waste of money, and only a handful of people used it every weekend. That is such a boring way to start this story but I wanted you to get some background on a place where I grew up. Continue reading
Remember in about 5 blogs I mentioned I’ve never had sex with a hooker? Well that still applies here. I don’t want to seem like I’m opening up a floodgate of prostitute stories but I thought I’d share one more because it has been a long week and I need something to cheer me up. Continue reading
Doing coke in Australia is almost completely fucking pointless – as I’ve figured out by being a spectator on the last tour I was involved with. At $300 a gram and more hit than miss, it starts to become more of a placebo rather than a drug that’s doing anything at all. Sure you can get pretty good coke here if you’re lucky but is the fun worth the gamble? I doubt it. I’ve had $30 MDMA caps that have had almost the same effect for hours. Continue reading
This doesn’t seem to be working for me. Please read the following emails.
Dear To Whom It May Concern,
I’m not really into the process of going through several interviews and worrying about if I got the job or not. I am just going to come in and start working for you on Monday at 9am. I will have my bank account details ready to hand over to the accounts department before I begin working for your company. Continue reading
I thought I’d write a very educational piece on Brisbane’s nightlife for those who have just moved here or the poor lost souls who are recently single. A lot of people complain about going through a drought after they’ve just broken up, so hopefully the following will be able to help you get back out there and on display to some of Australia’s easiest slapper’s. Continue reading
I feel I need to explain my Ebay auction that went out to the media yesterday because I didn’t think people would actually care. Lately my sister has been using Ebay a lot and selling junk from my parents’ house. I suggested that she sell part of my stamp collection and some of my old items that were still at my folk’s house – like a Sega Dreamcast and random games. Being so broke in Tijuana I decided to sell my soul on a website called Fiver, however, the item was rejected. I honestly didn’t think Ebay would allow it either, but 42 bids later and it’s still up there. I have a feeling that I worried a lot of close friends and family members so I feel I should explain in detail the events that have happened, but at the same time I want people to know that I put myself in this position and I still feel strongly that Tijuana is a beautiful place with amazing culture and people, although I am ready to leave. And while I’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel lately, and borrowing money off friends/family for food sometimes, I think they can vouch that I’m the first person who offers a round of beers, the first person to chip in for fuel money and genuinely love helping friends/family out where I can.
So what the fuck am I doing in Tijuana? Good question. I’m not even sure my answer will make sense. But let’s start from the beginning. As some of you know I came out here to work on a tour with a popular band through-out Canada and USA. I had just finished a pretty difficult tour which suffered financially and was ready to chuck in the towel with the industry all-together, work on my book and slowly pay off my debts. When the opportunity presented itself to travel to the US and work with a band for a month I was really surprised. I called up a friend of mine who once owned a bar in Brisbane who has been through financial issues before, I called friends who play important roles in the country’s biggest music festivals and I also rang my parents. Everyone told me that I should do it. My family and friends said that I was still very young and the debt will be here when you get back. I had already quit New Noise halfway through our last tour with AC4 and Star Fucking Hipsters telling everyone involved that my heart was just not in it anymore – not at all. I once woke up excited about going on the road and sharing stories and creating new ones along the way. But that all changed. I envied people with 9 – 5 jobs who could appreciate a cold beer after a hard day’s work. Often people who fit that category state that I’m “living the dream” when in fact it’s far from the truth. I definitely didn’t dream of being poor in Mexico, I didn’t plan on letting down trusting investors, and I didn’t mean to make my mates worry about me. Moving on; when I first arrived in California (via a cheeky stopover in Hawaii) I felt some sense of relief, and that I could possibly start off fresh with my new job. I didn’t have much money at first but I used Craig’s List and found people who were driving 9 hours to San Francisco for only $20 in a “ride share”. Throughout the journey I would meet new friends and never had to pay for accommodation at all. When I got back to my home base in Costa Mesa, California I was getting more and more excited about the tour that I was about to go on. I got sent images of the tour bus, I had my passports all scanned for Canadian Visa’s and with 3 days to go before the commencement – the band pull out due to “illness”. I think a lot of you know me well enough now to know what my next move was – getting blind drunk.
I honestly didn’t know what to do next. I had only bought a one way ticket to USA and was expecting to either pay for a ticket home with money from the job, or possibly get more work and sponsorship over here to stay. None of that happened. With very little money I thought that Mexico would be a possibility to stay here for a few months while I finished my book. Now I don’t think I’m an amazing writer with better stories than the average folk; I said from day one that I just enjoy writing about my experiences. In hindsight it’s not the most realistic plan, but it’s a plan I have no regrets about – apart from being a little poor.
If you read previous blog entries you would already know my first story involving a taxi driver who took my iPhone, and you’ll see my thoughts on Tijuana and how I’m getting around etc. So I’ll move on to the incident that made me seem a little desperate.
The day before the ‘incident’ I had around $10 and decided that I would have a few cheeky beers downtown. I went into a bar I hadn’t been into before, and sat down to start drinking. Moments later I looked over to the end of the bar and notice a rather large jar with a rattle snake inside. The bartender said I could have a shot for $3 and a few minutes later curiosity got the best of me. The bartenders English was as good as my Spanish – Shithouse. I think he explained that they put the live rattle snake into the Tequila to drown it, while it’s drowning it shoots out poison and once it’s dead they take the snake out, gut it and put it back into the jar to foment for a few years. I asked if the waitress sitting next to me can have a shot with me and she nervously accepted. The whole crew come over to the bar to witness and cheer us on. The bartender fixes up two shots of Rattlesnake Tequila with a little bit of snake skin floating around, and we both slam down our shots with the applause of the staff. Keep in mind it’s around 2pm so it’s kind of quiet outside. After around 10 minutes I start feeling dizzy, say my goodbyes and wonder off home. I can’t stand the American housemate that I have here so I snuck into my room, and instead of just going to the toliet I pissed in a bottle through-out the rest of the afternoon and evening just to save myself from a torturous, drug justifying conversation with the world’s biggest idiot.
The next day I woke up kind of happy because the day before was quite fun compared to the week or so I spent in my room twiddling my thumbs. In saying that – I should probably apologise for the mass amounts of Facebook wall posts I’ve been doing. Sometimes when you’re stuck in a room with not much else to do, you love connecting and talking with people to keep you sane. When I woke up I noticed that my computer was off and sure enough so was the power to the house. I didn’t care though because I wanted to go back into town. I had my rent money in my account, along with some money to buy a friend a poncho. I did my normal routine of saying hello to my neighbour, and then catching a $1 taxi to downtown. I wasn’t really planning too much about this day so I just walked slowly around the place before stopping into McDonald’s for a cheeky Cheeseburger. I hadn’t had one for months so I decided to slam one. Afterward I walked up to the only bank that doesn’t charge me $20 to take money out – Scotiabank. On my way there I was kind of full from my burger and walking kind of slow. One thing I noticed was the amount of Police and Military. There were already a LOT but today it seemed nearly tripled with their presence. I am now around one block from the bank and i start to cross the road with around 4 or 5 people. I run a little bit and this older man dressed quite nicely says with a grin “watch out man these Mexican drivers are crazy”. I just laugh and continue walking up the block. I notice that he is slowing down and speeding up, trying to keep up with me. He would murmur little jokes about stuff and to be honest I thought he wanted to talk with me and ask where I was from, just out of politeness. We walk around the corner and he asks how I’m doing today, and it still seems normal. He then pulls out a badge and ID and says that he’s a Sargent for the TJ police department and that I should be careful where I walk in the future. I honestly thought he was just warning me. He told me that the street kids sometimes walk out onto the street and follow the Gringos, and that they could have ran after me. He asked if I had kids and said that he’d be devastated if his kids died. He then stopped me and said “just talk to me for a second”. OK by this point I realise that something wasn’t right. He asks where I’m from and when I tell him he says “you’re Australian, and you’ve been here a while. You should know better than that!”. I am honestly kind of worried. There were police around watching all this happening around 20 meters away. I just continue to apologise and say that I’ll know better next time. He then says that I wouldn’t last more than 15 minutes in a Mexican prison and obviously the more he keeps mentioning prison the more worried I’m getting. Sternly he says “I am going to give you two options, and you have to think quickly because you only get once chance. Option 1 we can sort this out like gentlemen right here and right now. Option 2 I can take you away to jail in hand cuffs and we can see what happens overnight”. So we all know the only option I can take is option 1, but I didn’t know how much it would take. He then says “how much do you value your freedom?”. What a fucking question! I just say as much as I can give. He asked for $1000 but I said that I don’t have that much money so he points me to the ATM and said let’s see. I put in my PIN and he then tells me which buttons to press. I give him the cash and he says “I don’t ever want to see you around here again”. To be honest I don’t think that wasn’t being a ‘Gentlemen’ in the traditional sense. It did give me a fucking shake up though. I walked to a taxi kind of depressed, came home and realised that I think I really want to be home in Brisbane.
Selling my soul on Ebay was intended to be a joke and to be honest I thought it would have been taken off Ebay within a few hours. I had a Skpye conversation with a journalist in North QLD, and after that my story went out all through Western Australia and Regional QLD. I haven’t heard anything from here obviously, but I tried to make sure they knew that I wasn’t trying to put Mexico in a bad light. I still love it here and love the people, mostly. It’s very corrupt but that’s a minority of people who ruin it for the rest. I am however ready to go home and have a beer with my friends. I am hoping it will be soon!
Hope you’re well!
Located just under 30kms (16 Miles) from San Diego – Tijuana, Mexico was once the “worlds most visited city”. However the city almost seems deserted with western travellers who once helped strengthen the countries poor economy. While USA is very beautiful in parts – it’s not that much different to Australia. If you want to get a bit of a culture shock without breaking your bank account then drive down to Mexico, even if it’s just for the day. The US dollar is widely accepted but I like using Pesos just because 1000 pesos sounds cooler than 100 bucks. Continue reading
For years I have been trying to torment The Toowoomba Chronicle – successfully. In 2003 they ran a full page article on my old website ‘Toowoomba Is Cool’ which featured skanks taking their gear off with Glenn written on their stomachs, interviews with Jesus, locations to find the best goon bags and much more. Apart from nearly getting bashed up several times it flourished into an online forum for people in Toowoomba talking about music. I didn’t really annoy The Chronicle for a long time until a couple of years ago when I sent an SMS to express my opinion about something. It read “I am sick of having to cross the street every time I see someone with Tattoos – Josh R”. In a few days the newspaper was bombarded with angsty 20-something year olds which lead onto many feature articles discussing the issue. I naturally just got more of my mates to send in a text message and act like they agreed with me and were disgusted at the sight of tattoos. This caused a few more articles and an interview request. Usually when they send an interview request I’m not sure where to take it from there as I’m usually in another city.
Here are some examples of the stories that followed (you don’t have to read the article, just the headline is good enough):
A few months passed and I send a lazy drunk text saying I found Dinosaur bones in my backyard. They called me for an interview but I was way too drunk and underprepared to try and back that one up.
My next one was a few weeks ago, and was definitely a joint effort between my mates Josh and Tom, and a large group of friends I was drinking with at the time. I thought I’d send a little text saying the following:
“Why haven’t the police stopped the new strip club in Mt Lofty!? They openly advertise and I bet they don’t have approval. Caught my husband there the other night. Someone even had the nerve to hand fliers out in front of my son’s school!!!”
Pretty vague, simple and not that funny. Exactly the type of news Toowoomba would thrive on. I tell my mate Josh to send a text to follow up and he sends the following:
“Can the Toowoomba Police please explain the following: why, are you allocating 4 (!) speed cameras between here and pitsworth when my children have complained about pamphlets for strip clubs by the Sudanese outside their school? Get your priorities sorted!
quite simple and vague. Exactly what a disgruntled parent would write. For days the Chronicle were calling us but we didn’t know how to approach it. Instead of answering the calls, Josh and I would just get more and more people to do it. Josh’s brother Tom then sent his own text in complaining about the strip club just so we could keep the theme going. The following morning Tom answers his phone and it’s the Toowoomba Chronicle requesting an interview. Apparently over 20 people had texted the Chronicle about this story, and the journalist seemed to be on top of it all. I don’t know how he did that considering it was all of our friends that were texting in complaining about this new “All Ages Strip Club” near Mt Lofty (Location of Toowoomba State High School).
Instead of doing the interview Tom said he didn’t want his name dragged through the mud so he said he’d send a scanned copy of the flier that people were handing out at the front of his son’s school. Tom designed the following:
After Tom sent that the journalist thanked him and said that he got to the bottom of it. The next day there was a full page article:
I am unsure of what happened after that, but with little evidence it seemed like the Chronicle shut down a normal party thinking it had some involvement with strippers, sex and drugs. Since this article there has been facebook groups flaming The Chronicle, with one person writing an open letter saying :
“…you created a story, littered with sexual allegations, and defaming the name of a school, from facts gathered solely from Facebook.
There was no research, no information. There was no evidence from any figure of authority to say the story was true or false. You collected some posts off Facebook and it made the front page.”
So I guess I am writing this to apologise to Toowoomba State High School for The Chronicle making a story out of nothing, and making it front page news. I am also sorry that your party was shut down. That was not my intention. But fuck it’s a fun newspaper. My friends did a great job here too (actually they did most of the work), and we can’t wait to get more stories in the Toowoomba Paper.
So there you have it. To my mates who helped us send in a text can you please comment below with what you wrote in?
EDIT – I just got this email and thought I should share it with the rest of you.
So, I planned to have a party, every teenager wants to throw a party and my parents were cool with it so I decided to do it. I set up a private facebook event because it was easier, and a few days before my friend said she wanted to bring drugs, and she was joking so we didn’t think twice about it. Then the school contacted her parents and told her that she wanted to bring drugs and we presumed they had a list of the attending, but they didn’t really have any list. Considering that some of the people coming had strict parents I cancelled it, because I can just imagine if a parent gets a phone call saying their son or daughter was at a party with drugs at it, even if there were none.
The last day of school I was called into the principals office, he was really angry and I didn’t have a clue what about and then he mentioned sexual connotations and a sex party and all this stuff and I didn’t know what he was on about. He eventually realised that I didn’t organise a sex party and told me that the chronicle was releasing a story about this “End of Term Sex Party”. If I had organised a sex party specifically for Toowoomba State High School students, then he had grounds to expel me and I totally understand where he was coming from when he was angry. But because I didn’t organise such a thing and I didn’t hear about it till then we ended up chatting and eating cookies.
When I got home, I had an inbox from a friend. Turns out, this friend I used to work with was dating Adam Davies, the guy who wrote the article. Because my privacy settings were Friends of Friends on facebook, he could go on and then linked my party to the “stripping joint”. The concerned mother of the 14 year old from the article was I one of your friends, I presume? Regardless, classic! Anyway, the inbox said to call her and it had her number, so I did, and she told me to delete anything that can be linked to me. Nothing of my identity was on the article which I’m happy about, but they’ve been planning this story for a week before it was printed apparently. Then my mum gets on the phone because Adam was there, and being the awesome chick she was said: “You call yourself a journalist, and you get your facts off facebook?”.
That’s pretty much the end of it, but it’s been bloody awesome! haha, cheers bro
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I was pretty lost and was doing nothing. I know that I wanted to get into music but I didn’t know how to get involved with it. Where does someone from a shitty little town start? Naturally I got to a point where I gave up and decided to try and join the working force or the “real world”. I moved to Melbourne where I didn’t really know the people I was moving in with or what I was getting in to. I lived in a shitty suburb called Croydon and it turned out one of the house mates was a 28 year old Neo Nazi who had just gotten back from Germany touring with his ‘white pride’ punk band. I don’t want to get too much into this story because it’s a little bit personal and violent. Let’s just say that by the end of my stay in that house I had to put my bed up against the door, to block it, because I feared he would come in drunk and knock my head in. I didn’t do anything wrong at all. At the time I was listening to Sigur Ros and I guess Skinheads don’t really relate to the soothing Icelandic group. I guess it was pretty annoying too. We had no interest in each other’s music and that was the only CD I owned. It was also hard making friends with a 3 meter Nazi flag in the lounge room. Continue reading
It was a cold morning in Toowoomba moments before the school bell rang. I was surrounded by a group of Aboriginals and a fairly large Blonde girl. The Aboriginal people were yelling at me to hurry up and make my move. “Fuck it, alright!” I yelled. Continue reading
Over the past month I’ve been staying at a pub/venue in Melbourne called The Arthouse Hotel. It has been the most time I’ve spent alone in my whole life, which has really made me think about what I want to be doing and where I want to be doing it. I am not a loner here; in fact I have made a lot of really close friends already. Spending time by myself is something that I’ve chosen to do, and in a way it’s refreshing. Continue reading
I remember my first festival. It was Livid Festival, Brisbane, October 1998. I lied to my mother about the details as she wanted older people to be with me when I went. I was only 14 years old and alcohol was being served openly throughout the RNA showgrounds Continue reading