Voivod kicked ass.

Despite the sound cutting out halfway through their second song, Quebec's finest export kicked a lot of ass. They didn't play "Invisible Planet," alas, but hell, it was worth the price of admission. I also got a spiffy t-shirt, opting for clothing over beer. Snake, the vocalist, is funny as hell to watch on stage, and Piggy, the guitarist, played this weird guitar made out of what appeared to be aluminum tubing. The drummer, Away, struck me as looking a lot like a less aged, heavy metal version of William Gibson, a comparison I'm sure Away would get a laugh out of.

I met Jason Newsted, who wandered around the crowd during the sonic blackout. He wasn't signing autographs, which I thought was cool, and he talked to everyone who approached him, myself included. I gave him all the information about my novel, and told him that I figured he and the rest of Voivod would enjoy it, given the themes they deal with. He asked me how old I was (I'm 23, if you didn't know) and, upon finding out, told me I was already on my way to doing fine in life. Everyone always tells me that I'm ahead of the curve, given that I'm only 23 and I've got a novel coming out, and I tend to just shrug off those kinds of remarks. Coming from Jason Newsted, though, it sounded completely different, and seeing as how he's making a living doing what he loves, it's pretty heartening.

So here I sit, at a job that might vanish into thin air within a month. It's May Day, which the assholes here in America have decided should be dedicated as a "National Day of Prayer" and "Law Day" simultaneously. God forbid the working class, whose day this should be, gets to say "fuck you, boss" in solidarity all over the world. No, May Day's for the commies. We've got Labor Day. Fuck, why did I come to work today?

I hope Voivod reads my novel, and I hope the working class finally gets its shit together, stops working, and tells all the bosses, managers, scabs, scissorbills, and plutocratic assholes that WORK IS FOR CHUMPS.