Today's my 33rd birthday, which is kind of an odd number, but does make think of a nice round number. 20 years ago, on January 6th, 1995, I had enough money from Christmas and birthday cards to buy what I really wanted for my birthday. So that weekend (January 6 was on a Friday that year, so this was either the 7th or the 8th), my mom drove me out from the one small town in Delaware that we lived in, Rehoboth, to another one, Milton, to Fat Larry's Tattoo Shop. Fat Larry was selling his Pearl Export set, and that day I came home with my first drum kit.

I had been playing in school band, and had my own snare drum, since I was 10. But this was different. I could play, like, rock music, now. And I'd get home every day from school and play for an hour or two. Until my poor tolerant mother got home and I'd show mercy and put down the sticks. My brother got a bass guitar I believe the same year. And very soon we had started our first band with a couple of friends. And then our second band. By the end of high school I'd joined my third band (first one to play actual shows). Driving back from Pittsburgh for our only out-of-state show, one of my bandmates crashed our van, and my snare drum, Fat Larry's snare drum, was damaged beyond repair. Over the years, I gradually replaced pretty much every piece of my drum set, except for the bass drum. That's held up pretty well.

There were a good 5 years that I barely played my drums at all, but I held onto them. When I started recording songs for my 6th band, Western Blot, I kept using the drums I'd always had, bass drum included. I've replaced the head of the bass drum several times over the years. The last two times were both while I was playing this song -- once during the recording session, and then later practicing the song with the live band. I'm still playing with that band, and in the last couple months I've been playing with some new people that, if things keep proceeding, will probably be my 7th and 8th bands. I don't know how long I can get away with using one beat up old kick drum. 20 years is a long time to own anything -- I probably have a few CDs and books that are older. But I doubt any of them hold as much meaning for me, or that I'll continue making space for them and trying to hold onto them for the next 20 or 50 years. Thank you, Mom. And thank you, Fat Larry, wherever you are.

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