Vol. 112 - A Case of the Fridays

When did weekdays become the thing?

Many years ago, long before I had kids, I was at South By Southwest, in conversation with the guy who owned the record label my band was signed to, telling him how much I’d come to loathe South By Southwest.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved being able to see so many friends from other bands and from across the music industry, people who lived all over the world, all together in one place. I loved the tacos and the endless supply of Lone Star and I loved playing a few shows a day. I loved discovering new bands. But the schlep of it all, combined with the overwhelming corporate presence (my friend and I very well could have been sitting at a showcase that was being ‘presented’ by Clorox bleach or Keds sneakers while we had this conversation) and co-opting by seemingly everyone had grown to annoy me. Not only that, but the fact that, over the years, it grew to feel like the music was the last thing most people were paying attention to started to turn to me off to the entire endeavor. To me, it felt like SXSW had become a place to ‘be’ rather than a place to connect and to discover new music.

My friend was incredulous. See, by then, he was already a father, and he told me that SXSW was one of his favorite weeks of the year; that, for as much as he loved his kids, he needed a week away to gorge on tacos and new music, and to drink innumerable Lone Stars with beloved pals from around the music world.

Now that I’m a father, I fully understand what he was talking about. Of course, save the occasional trip for a story assignment, I don’t have many of those work trips these days. I don’t have too many opportunities to disconnect from fatherhood. What I do have is weekdays.

The only regular respite I get from the grind of fatherhood comes Monday through Friday, between 7ish in the morning and 3ish in the afternoon. It’s during those precious hours that I can turn my dad brain off. I can work in peace. I can watch whatever shows I want during my lunch break. I can even fuck my wife without concern of waking the kids up.

Considering as much, I no longer get the Sunday Scaries. Rather, I get what I call ‘the Friday Frights.’ That is, after I give my kid a squeeze on Friday morning, as his school bus comes round the corner, and then drop my daughter off at daycare a few minutes later, I know those next eight hours are the last eight hours I’ll have to myself until Monday morning. I know that whatever story I’m working on, whether for work or for pleasure, suddenly has a deadline. I know that whatever chores I need to accomplish or adult shows I need to catch up on (Slow Horses, Bad Monkey, and La Maison, atm) need to be watched before 3ish pm. I know that, if I want to get laid in peace, it needs to happen before the kids become a constant presence for the next few days.

This isn’t to say I dread the weekend. Hardly. Given the fact that I’m predisposed to enjoy the same shit a twelve-year-old boy does (drums! bikes! race cars! baseball!), doing shit with my kids all weekend is my idea of a good time.

(To wit, last Thursday, I turned forty-two years old. Coincidentally, my son had a teacher workday and was off from school. And so Emily and I planned my birthday around shit he would enjoy. We went to one of those car-racing simulator bars, followed by a skatepark, followed by a visit to the playground, followed by a father/son session spent practicing manuals on our mountain bikes, followed by watching the Mets game at home (where they clinched the Wild Card series in dramatic fashion! LFGM!!!).)

So when our weekends are jam packed with kids’ stuff, I don’t mind it. Hell, I prefer it. I’d much rather be hanging out at a skatepark or racing video game cars than going to a brewery or playing golf.

Still, weekends are very much their time. Which is why I finally understand what my friend meant when he said he spends much of the year looking forward to his booze-filled, kid-and-concern-free week at South By Southwest every year.

Of course, my work weeks are hardly booze filled. And they’re only kid-and-concern free until about 3pm. But for those eight hours each day, I can rest a little easier, worry about only myself and my wife the shit we need to get done, maybe get laid, and definitely watch my favorite show.