2001-06-02

So punk rock, dude.

Well. Well, well, well, well, well.

Last night was a series of Perfect Rockstar moments, as I have come to understand them. We managed to get on a bill with an experimental saxophone player, a comedy team from Athens, GA., whose main routine consisted of stripping down to their tightie-whiteys and pouring tomato juice all over themselves (Oddly compelling and somewhat arousing, and I did laugh, but I think it was more from discomfort than amusement. Maybe that's good?), and a Rhode Island two-piece called Lightning Bolt.

It was really more of a "happening" than a show, taking place in a warehouse off of Dudley Square. Lots of 22-year-olds taking pulls off of 40-ouncers of Schlitz (the cost-effective way to drink). I felt old, man, standing on the sidewalk eating take-out lo-mein and seeing all these kids in clumps on the sidewalk, like, "How do they all find out about these shows? My goodness."

The bathroom was a one-seater, in a large room off the main area, next to a paint-spattered industrial-sized sink. I'm standing in line, in between one of the half-naked, tomato-juice-drenched comics, and a guy who can't stop talking about how bad he has to pee, dude. One multiple-pierced lass approached the line to inform us that "there's an port-o-john down the street in a vacant lot; it's got toilet paper and it totally does not stink, if any of you want to go in there."

The dude who really had to pee turned to me, "Hey, you were that drummer in that weird band, right?"

"Yeah."

"Man, you guys are weird."

"Thanks."

"Hey, if you really have to go, we can both go at the same time."

"Beg pardon?"

"Well, like, I do a lot of construction jobs, you know? And they got what we call a 'slop sink' in there. I mean, it's no prob for me to pee in the slop sink, and, like, you can use the toilet, and then we'll both be done, right?"

"It's cool. I don't have to go that bad."

"You sure?" He seemed genuinely disappointed by my polite refusal of his chivalrous offer to engage in a joint pee-session.

I spent the last hour or so on the sidewalk, as the smell of sweat, Schlitz and tomato juice was getting a little on the pungent side.

I got home at 2:30, read the newspaper and went to bed. I'm so punk rock, dude.

lisamcc at 12:55 p.m.

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