Shut Up and Give Me the Mic by Dee Snider

forever. Grandpa was a tool-and-die man in his day, making specialty, precision mechanical pieces for machinery. He actually made parts used on the first lunar landing. Grandpa had worked extremely hard his whole life and provided well for his family, but he told me how he had allowed himself to be taken advantage of by his fellow workers, often doing their work without getting the credit, accolades, and advancement. Frank Schenker (my grandfather) was a great guy and a good worker, but he was a sucker and a pushover. His next words to me fell hard on a nineteen-year-old whose life lay ahead of him, like so many blank pages waiting to be written. “Danny, don’t be wishy-washy like I was,” my eightysomething-year-old grandfather warned. “Don’t let people walk all over you.” I understood what my grandfather was saying to me. Thank you for that advice, Grandpa. I never did.
    The life lessons were mounting during my less than one-yearstint in Peacock. But the biggest—about relationships—I came to on my own.
    Being single in a working rock band meant there was no shortage of girls. It doesn’t matter if you are in a good band or bad, unknown or famous, rich or poor (of course the better and more famous the band, and the more money you have, the hotter the girls you will get), there will always be girls out there who want to be with guys in bands. It’s without a doubt the most common reason you will hear for guys joining bands in the first place: to meet chicks. A different club every night meant a different girl every night, and while that certainly has its appeal, for me something was lacking.
    One miserable winter day, I had a bad cold and was alone in my apartment. It was rainy and I was staring out of the little basement window at the grayness outside, the cold radiating through the glass. I felt terrible and badly wanted someone to be with, but what “rock chick” would want to hang with a sick rocker with a runny nose, a fever, and a cough? And what rock chick would I want to be with when I felt like this? At the ripe old age of nineteen, I clearly remember thinking to myself, Will I ever meet someone who will be with me all the time? I already knew that the traditional rock-star life would not be for me.
    Less than two years later, my prayer would be answered.

crash and burn #1
     
    M y time in Peacock ended with my first of many crash-and-burns. You’d think I would learn. Growing issues with the disgusting bass player (who shall remain nameless because he is a douche) finally peaked with a physical confrontation, and I quit. I had tolerated his hygiene, cigarette smoking, difficult personality, and naked jumping jacks. I could deal with all that (well, maybe not the jumping jacks), but the minute things turned violent, I was out. I know you’ve heard a myriad of stories of great rock bands having physical altercations among themselves (sometimes even onstage), but with what sometimes seemed like the whole world against me, the one place I would not and will not tolerate fistfights is within my band. No doubt at times you want to kill each other, but this is your art and your passion. Save that hostility for the haters.
    Within weeks of leaving the band I was broke. I’ve always been terrible with money and had mismanaged what I made with the band. My rent was months overdue and I had no cash for food; I was living on peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. My parents, seeing how I had fallen flat on my independent face, “ordered” me to move back home. They knew they couldn’t actually command me, but they saw I was too proud to ask, so they told me I was coming back, whether I liked it or not, until I got back on my feet. Thanks for that, Mom and Dad.
    Within weeks of moving back in, I’d hit real rock bottom: mycar broke down and I couldn’t afford to get it fixed. In suburbia, not having a car is worse than not having a place to live. You can always live in your car. No money, no job, no