6/19/05
After the previous nights events, I thought things couldn't get stranger. I was wrong. On this day, I would see something I've never seen before.
It had nothing to do with the show itself. All the bands did roughly the same thing as the night before, albeit to a smaller, all ages crowd. Plus my voice, thanks to a good nights sleep and a shitload of green tea and honey, returned to form. It all sounded good, but lets face the facts:
1) It was Father's Day, meaning lots of people had other shit to do
2) Only so many people under 21 are aware of Faster Pussycat
I mean, do the math. Faster Pussycat had their biggest hit around 1989, with "House Of Pain." It is now 2005. 2005 - 1989 = 16. Subtract 16 from 21 and you get 5. What does it all mean? Basically to be under 21 and be aware of Faster Pussycat in their heyday, you would have had to be one rocking 5 year old in 1989. That's not to say no one could have caught on to them later on. But you also must factor in the grunge explosion two years later that obliterated any traces of Los Angeles style metal. So unfortunately the youth of today never had much of a chance to get turned on to Faster Pussycat and many other fun bands from that era.
So music history and a Hallmark holiday were working against us all. Thats too bad, as all the bands (Midnight Idols, us, Go Like Hell, and Faster Pussycat) once again kicked some serious ass. Our set felt effortless, and was over in a flash.
But as I said before, the weirdness had nothing to do with the crowd, bands, or music on this day.
During the Midnight Idols' set, Hoagie, Greg, Brian (Dick Whiskey to you, punk) from Go Like Hell, and I headed outside to the pavillion to get some sun and fresh air. This pavillion is in a very public area, with families of tourists traipsing through on their way to the Underground Tour, a ballgame, or whatever. Eric (Fenix bouncer, who also works at my day job) pointed out a bum crashed out in the middle of the pavillion in the front of the club, next to a bicycle with a small trailer loaded with stuff. As the guy hadn't moved in quite some time, Eric wondered if the bum was dead.
Shortly thereafter the bum awoke from his nap, prompting applause from all of us. He stood, turned to a row of stacked chairs to his left, pulled out his dick, and started pissing on the chairs. At this point, Fenix co-owner Rick, looking like a cross between Al Swearengen and Al Jourgensen, angrily tried to shoo the bum away and called the police.
The bum was having none of this, yelling back at Rick in some kind of jibberish only understood by other bums. Each time Rick would approach, the bum would step away a bit, only to return again. The four of us, along with the rest of the bums at the pavillion, got a nice giggle out of the weird scene unfolding before us. Rick kept telling the bum to get his shit out of there, to no avail. So Rick decided to start flinging the bum's crap all over the pavillion.
One of the things in the little bike trailer was a toolbox, which Rick tossed to the side. The toolbox fell open, and a camper's axe fell out. The bum lunged and grabbed the axe off of the ground, and started threatening Rick with it. I've never seen someone go from badass to "Uh - oh!" so fast. Rick whipped out one of those telescoping whatchamacallits like that guy used on Nancy Kerrigan's knee in an attempt to keep the bum at bay. Eric and another bouncer ran towards the unlikely combatants. The other bouncer ran up behind the bum and knocked him out cold with one solid thump to the back of the head. The two bouncers than held the bum down (though it was unneccesary, as he was out like parachute pants) until the cops finally arrived.
You would think the weirdness for the day was done. Wrong! After our set, we immediately loaded out. While waiting for Hoagie to retrieve his car, Greg somehow ended up in a conversation with some guy looking for change. Mid conversation, the guy looks at me and yells, "Can I ask you something? Why do you look like you get more sex than everyone else? You must be a singer." I made some funny comment, and was going to leave it at that. Then the guy holds out a handful of change, and is about to start hitting me up. I said, "Wow man, thanks!" and acted like I was going to accept the generous gift I was about to receive. He laughed, and stated that he needed about 85 cents for something or other. I told him I carried no cash at all. Upon receiving a skeptical look, I pointed to my super tight stage pants and told him that I was "packing a whole lotta hog down there - theres no room for change. Where would I put it?" I accomplished two things right then; I cracked Greg up and got rid of the guy.
We dropped off the gear, and I returned to the club with Dan to use up the drink tickets and get (well) paid. Not five minutes back in the club I got hit on by a guy. He actually cupped my ass while trying to make small talk. I made some excuse of having something to do, and moved to another part of the club, where I went back to observing the three hot chicks fondling each other on the dance floor.
After chatting up a few of the Pussycats post show, shooting the shit with a few other people, and drinking some more with Brian, I got introduced to Taime Downe (thanks, Stormy.) After some small talk, we all (minus Dan) lit out for the Vogue for further revelry. And what happens at the Vogue stays at the Vogue.
I finally made it home 10 hours after I left for the show, and passed out within 10 minutes of peeling off my stage pants. The entire weekend never ceased to be fun. The Fenix people (especially Rick, Eric, and the monitor guy whose name I seem to have forgotten) were great, as was getting to hang and play with our friends in Go Like Hell all weekend. I did learn an important lesson though: When things are going weird, never ask "What's next?" You probably don't want to know.