Well, it's Friday, so it's time again to examine the evolution of that ill-fated, didn't-make-it band, the Intentions.
But today, none of your sequential, step-by-step examination or evolution.
We're gonna look at how far (and badly) some of those boys evolved.
The singer/bassist for the band, an occasional contributor to this here blog, still fancies himself, in the depths o' his mind, a bit of a rocker. A bit of punk.
Consistent with that, he was wildly excited that Glen Matlock, bassist and songwriter of the Sex Pistols, was touring the US with his band The Philistines.
Eschewing a Matlock appearance in Brooklyn, this singer Intention long ago bought two tickets to see Matlock. In a mid-Atlantic state near his palatial Intention-y manse. An easy drive over to check out some punk rock.
Well, thirty-two bucks and a lotta lip into his commitment, this singer boy found himself leaving work to care for an ailing mama. He found himself slugging through traffic heading to pick up his co-attendee.
He found himself flagging.
He found himself doubting he'd survive the ordeal of a late night of punk rock in a shithole club, getting to bed moments before he'd arise to go to his "day job" (which he's held for a quarter of a century, but which still seems foreign).
He found himself bailing out. He found himself asleep by ten.
He finds himself a pussy.