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While Hedwig has put a little more rock n roll in my soul I apparently had to lose a little rock n roll to make room for this show. Please have a moment of silence for the Rock n Roll Trashcan.

He started out like many trashcans do, just a faceless plastic barrel among many others like himself on a Wal-Mart shelf. I bought him when we moved to Virginia, where he led a quiet life on the back porch of a farm house we rented in the middle of nowhere. Poor Trashcan never sat on a curb out there, because we always removed the trash bags every week and hauled them ourselves to a dumpster on the main farm. Trashcan led a lonely existence with only the birds and bugs for friends. However, the sun set beautifully behind our house every day, with a dazzling array of pinks and purples and reds and blues. Trashcan watched that sunset every evening and longed for a life rich in such color, but he knew he'd never travel as far as the horizon. He'd never get to bathe in those lush colors.

Perhaps, he was wrong. We moved into town and suddenly Trashcan found himself routinely dragged to the curb, full of garbage. That's when Trashcan began the transformation to Rock n Roll Trashcan. Obliging his desire to stand out from the pack, I began plastering stickers all over the trashcan. Nearly every band that passed through The Dawning had a sticker boldly displayed on the Rock n Roll Trashcan. While I myself was constantly trying to do the "right" thing, going to school, eating healthy. Rock n Roll Trashcan was living it up and, perhaps, I lived vicariously through him.

He hung out in the streets, consuming all manner of drink, drug, and food. Sometimes I found him passed out, tipped over on the ground, after having vomiting his contents across my yard. Sometimes he'd get into a tussle with a roaming bitch or some pussy cat tramp, often ending the relationship with a punk rock display of aggression--puking out more of his insides on himself and the little tease. It was never a party until Rock n Roll trashcan was full to the brim and tipsy with what he'd consumed. All the while, he displayed his colors. Reds, purples, blacks and blues, every rock n roll sticker from every rock n roll band, each of them stinking with the ancient dried curdles of some long forgotten leftover dinner.

Then, one day, Rock n Roll Trashcan was gone. Did he weaken himself through excess so much that a wind blew him down the street into a ravine? Did the city trash collectors finally find him so repulsive that they picked him up and dumped in their trash truck, trying to give me a not so subtle hint that I needed a new (nicer) trashcan? Or did some punks come and steal him off my curb? Are they beating him up? Or is he living with them in a squat now, huddled around a trash fire?

We may never know. I like to think he is finally running free. He's rolling toward that horizon where the sun sets in such a beautiful cacophony of color. Next time you watch the sunset, think of the Rock n Roll Trashcan. Close your eyes and smell the air. If ever the setting sun smells like shit and spoiled meat, you'll know that Rock n Roll Trashcan has finally made it home.

January 2009

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