Not even close to famous

A career as a rock star, now that would be the life. Who wouldn't want to dress up in Hammer pants, play a 27-minute extended Slash solo and sing about the difficulties of driving the speed limit on a majority of interstate highways? \nIt would be a great job, and not just for the money, considering the fact that there are probably over 50,000 bands that you will never hear of for every one band that can make an honest living out of it. And I certainly would not to do it to be on MTV for hundreds of reasons, primarily because TRL will take any decent up-and-coming band, make them a one hit wonder and overplay the hell out of their hit song, stripping them of their musical dignity for a mere 15 seconds of fame. I mean, sure money and popularity are cool, but that stuff gets old. If riches and fame were really that important to me, I would probably do everything in my power to marry Tori Spelling. \nThe lifestyle of a rock star is what intrigues above all else: rocking out every night, drinking unlimited (free) beer, traveling around the country and having an all-access pass to be rowdy whenever and wherever, up to and including peeing in public. The only job that even comes close to having those perks is a truck driver, but I would assume rock outs at a truck stop would fail in comparison, unless you happen to be at the truck stop in "From Dusk Till Dawn." \nWhile the rock life would be nice, the road to it is not unlike post secondary education. It's thousands of hours of practice and dedication, and the war stories add up fast. Through my stints in various rock bands, I have gone through quite a bit of crap to get where I am now, which is still nowhere, but it's all money in the bank if you think about it. \nEarly in my musical career, after my band had played one of our first shows, we were given the opportunity every young group dreams for: the chance to open up for a known band. This band happened to be Buck-O-Nine, who at the time was a pretty popular ska band on the same record label as Nine Inch Nails, but the fact that I had heard of them was enough to give my bass an erection. \nWe practiced a ton and psyched ourselves up with pep talks, and then on the night of the show, disaster struck. Buck-O-Nine was a no show, and we were given no advanced warning. Seeing the "Buck-O-Nine cancelled" sign on the door, nearly everyone who came to the venue immediately turned and left. \nSo there we were, playing in front of maybe a hundred pissed off, completely motionless spectators. I think we got six claps that night during our 30-minute set. Fortunately, it turned out the replacement band was actually really good, so it wasn't a total loss. But I should've seen read the signs more closely and recognized the tough road I was steering towards. \nThere were the countless times we played in front of single digit crowds, one of which we played at a laundromat where the crowd consisted of the owner and some guy waiting for his underwear to dry. It was actually one of our better shows, surprisingly. After a while, it actually gets fun playing in front of six-person crowds, if you're drunk anyway. \nThen there was the time we drove some three hours to play an outdoor park show. We were maybe 20 minutes late, fashionably late as I like to call it, but that was enough to cost us our spot. And to make things worse, the band that took our spot really sucked. They didn't even have a guitarist, but one of the bassists was strumming his bass like it was a guitar, and let me tell you it does not work. \nAnother time we were playing a small outdoor festival when a hotdog fight erupted. The air was filled with flying wieners, and it was all in good fun until some vegetarians got hit in the face. They counterattacked with shoes, throwing one that hit me square in the face, and then they charged the stage and knocked over some of our gear. Later some guy came up on stage and swallowed a raw hotdog in one gulp.\nWhile I have yet to make a full time job out of it, I still get a taste of the rocker life now and then. I don't get any chicks, I certainly don't get any money and I have signed maybe four autographs in my life, one of which was for my mom, but that's not really what it's all about; it's about the love of the game. Wait a minute, screw that — money, fame and chicks are exactly what it's all about. And if you can't get any of that, you better enjoy playing for nickels at the local laundromat.