Some are insane, and they’re in charge

Gang of Four tonight. A loser is me and I didn’t read the tickets that said “Doors open 7 pm” (on a Friday night? WTF!?). Therefore I lazed about avoiding opening bands and didn’t pick L. up until nearly 10. We got there at 10:20 and the ticket woman told me they’d started at 9:45 to play an hour set. Very sad me. Fortunately they played a bit longer than that and I got to hear “To Hell with Poverty” and “At Home He’s a Tourist” which made me pogo like it was 1981.

The closing version of “Damaged Goods” would have been way better without the no-talent assclowns from the opening bands onstage being fratboys and Girl Rocker Stereotypes. Out on the disco floor they make their money, etc.

But I had a really good time yelling the lyrics back at the band. So did the rest of the crowd. It’s great to realize that the reason the vocals sound different is that most of the audience is singing along to just about every song. There were drunk idiots in front of us but they didn’t puke on me or yell in my ear. We went up to the bar afterwards to wait and see if Gina could come say hi but she was busy training a new waitress.

At this point, while L. was looking at merch, I was accosted by a woman I slightly recognized; I’d seen her in 2002 at the Savage Republic reunion show taking photos. Tall and very 80s scenester, dyed hair, rock t-shirt, etc. Not more than five years younger than me. She was the World’s Drunkest Person and simultaneously asked me for a light, asked me if I knew Dave (which Dave was not specified), and complained about the after-party the night before. The poor thing was so far gone that it was difficult for me to understand what she meant except that she was unhappy with her week and wanted to smoke, and to talk to me about things.

She got a light from someone else and disappeared for a bit, only to return again with her date, who was an aging scenester also, of the leather jacket + bad hair + alcohol + horn rimmed glasses variety. She began hitting on me with the manic intensity of the near-psychotic drunk. She hugged me about 10 times and kissed me twice on the cheek, explaining that she was a music dork and loved music dorks and knew I was one too, and that her boyfriend was a college radio music director/program director and that she loved him because music dork. Meanwhile he began clumsily/slimily hitting on L. I am indeed a music dork who was a college radio music director and program director, but I wasn’t gonna share that with her at this point.

After about 15 minutes of this, with L. showing signs of distress and/or incipient homicide, we fled. According to my new friend, she would have been “the best girlfriend I ever had”. I think we both have minor PTSD from the incident. It was only humorous after we were on the road at 50 mph headed away from the scene.

So I dropped L. off and cooled down at Ruba for a while, where Clayton and another guy talked about guns and I listened, and the muzak played Aerosmith, and the teenaged girls and boys smoked ostentatiously.

It was nice to go to a show with a neat person and just enjoy an evening. Should do that more, eh.

TO HELL WITH POVERTY, WE’LL GET DRUNK ON CHEAP WINE