Writings of Matthew Sheahan.
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Independence Day in these United States should be a stupendous and excessive explosion of red, white, and blue, with fireworks lighting the sky and masses of people celebrating America with the fervor to put a Roman bacchanal to shame.
Blackout Shoppers were practicing in a small Brooklyn studio.
It was the early hours of a Sunday morning, and I was traveling with my band, Blackout Shoppers. We had played the Anarchy at the Arcade Festival at Super Rad Arcade Bar in Lynchburg, Virginia, and shared the stage with some amazing bands.
“There are no second acts in American lives.”
The Northeastern U.S.
I attempted to watch Super Bowl LX on television this past Sunday.
We are in the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, when the days get jumbled and we want to maintain the holiday spirit as much as we can until the real world comes roaring back at us.
Several years ago, my band, Blackout Shoppers, was setting up for our turn to play on the stage at a punk rock show.
One evening at Blackout Shoppers’ band rehearsal, our drummer at the time, Mickey Fingers, was recounting a story of his apartment being robbed.
I was cleaning out my motor vehicle, disposing of a handful of parking meter receipts that accumulate on the dashboards of cars in large American cities.
