For too long they’ve stood by and watched humanity fumble and stumble through history as we feebly tried to raise ourselves out of the primordial ooze and attempted to rule this planet relying on our pathetically puny brains and almost non-existent intelligence. Their motherships are waiting for the signal from their homeworld. The signal to land, subjugate, conquer and enslave.

And I’m at the forefront of this invasion. For I realized a long time ago that resistance is futile and the only way to survive is to throw in my lot with those who are stronger and more advanced than myself. There is no question about it. The aliens will land. They will conquer, and the only chance for survival is to bow down in complete obedience and servitude when that glorious day arrives.

And I already have my marching orders. I’m supposed to collect all the tour dates available. Like David Bowie playing in Copenhagen on October 7, or Liz Phair playing in San Francisco on July 21. Then, whenever I find one of these tour dates, I write down the date, city and venue in my journal. Why? Because the aliens are going to need that information when they make themselves visible to us spineless, incompetent humans. When they come to rule.

It’s a tough job keeping track of all the dates. You never know when someone, say R.E.M., might switch a venue or flip-flop a couple of shows. Then there’s Cher, who’s been on her last tour for something like forever. No matter, I just keep collecting all the new dates, like the latest routings for Red Hot Chili Peppers, April Wine and David Frizzell, and hope that my hard work makes my alien masters happy. Believe me, you don’t want to tick off the aliens. After all, look what they did to Robert Blake.

And at the end of the day, after I’ve collected the itineraries for bands like Pearl Jam and artists like John Kelley and Jason Mraz, I climb up into my attic where I keep my secret radio. I point my antenna to the skies and then I transmit all the concert information to the mothership. Along with ticket-onsales, seating charts and support act listings. Aliens can be sooo anal.

But it won’t be long. It won’t be long until the aliens announce their existence to an unsuspecting world. Their saucer-like crafts swooping down out of the heavens and positioning themselves over our major concert halls and amphitheatres, their tentacles waving in the sunlight, their massive jowls drooling and their mighty rayguns disintegrating everything that stands in their way. And I’ll be there, like a good little servant, ready to tell the aliens all about the routings for James Taylor, Counting Crows and David Lee Roth. Yes, someday the aliens will come. Someday they will conquer. Someday they will rule.

At least, I think they’re space aliens. However, there are times when I think they’re the new breed of neo-conservatives. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.