As you know, I rarely leave my house, except to go to work and walk the dog. I can be enticed out with the promise of alcohol and food, but I’m headed right back home as soon as possible.
So, it’s with some surprise that I report that I was at an actual music concert last night, with actual live musicians, and a crowd. The Butcher had been tipped two tickets to Ben Folds and Weezer by someone who needed a tenderloin cut. (I’m hoping that’s not a euphemism for anything.)
My first thought, once the show started, was, “My god, it’s only Ben Folds. Why is it so loud?” Of course, it wasn’t Ben Folds; it was the opening act, who sounds remarkably like what someone who doesn’t know a lot of Ben Folds might think most of his songs might sound like, if that makes sense.
So, you know, I might not have enjoyed the opening act so much, except that I was playing “If the people around you were Nashville Bloggers, which ones would they be?” The balding man in front of me, who looked a lot like Stabler from Law & Order SVU, I almost convinced myself was Rex L. Camino. I leaned forward a couple of times and whispered “Tiny Cat Pants.” He looked at me weird and his wife glared, but, if it was old Rex, he did not let on for a second that he knew what I was talking about.
If that was you, Rex, were all those kids yours or just the curly haired one? And, either way, were you mortified when Ben Folds broke into Dr. Dre? (There’s a post here, America, about this weird new trend of bland pop acts recasting gangster rap songs as bland pop songs, but I’m too tired this morning to try to understand it.) I must say that it tickles me to think of a bunch of nine year olds running around yelling “motherfucker,” though I am less pleased by the thought of them singing “Bitches ain’t shit.”
Weezer had an awesome set–this cool dragon that wound around the drummer and up the back wall–and they sang some songs. I think they were great, but I was really, really tired by that point and the flashing lights from the stage were slowly hypnotizing me. So, if any of y’all were there, I was the one in the seats acting like a chicken.
I am sorry to report that i was not at the Ben Folds show last night. I saw the Ben Folds Five quite a few times back in the 90s and the only cover I remember him doing was a Liz Phair song.
Now I have to look up a photo of Stabler from Law and Order. I’ll be right back.
Ha. I was thinking of Fred Thompson. I don’t think I look like Stabler though, as I am not the least bit Italian.
It is pretty sad that I watch L&O:SVU once a week and I don’t know which one is Stabler.
But I would have to maintain that there is no way someone named Rex could look like someone named Stabler.
One of my friends emailed me that he was going to the Ben Folds/Weezer show, I haven’t gotten a report back on it yet.
You know, the actor is Italian, but on the show, they make a big deal out of him being Irish (and on Oz, they made a big deal of him being psycho and well-hung). I wonder if there’s some here-to-for religist (ha, I just made that word up!) belief that all Catholics look the same?
I’m torn between hoping that I’ll actually meet Mr. Camino in real life one day, and hoping that his identity will forever remain secret and thus I will have an excuse to go up to all sorts of men and whisper “Tiny Cat Pants” very near them.
I have the distinction of having fallen asleep during a Frank Black show, so your “I am old” ain’t got nothin’ on me.
My husband and I have a dream: an empire of live music venues called “Club Geezer” (or some such variety), with shows starting at 7 p.m. and ending at the civilized hour of 9:30, so that we can get up and get the kids off to school. All liquor served in real glass, not the nasty cheap plastic. No smoking. And a dispenser of those cute little in-your-ear earplugs nestled discreetly on every table.
I am really old. And now I have the urge to whisper “Tiny cat pants” in the ears of random strange men…
I am strangely compelled to do that to men too, except here I’d have to whisper, “mikra pantelonakia yia mikra gatakia”.
I think I am mostly Scotch (the nationality and the beverage) with traces of Irish, Cherokee, and Shetland Pony.
I am probably not very Rex-like in real life unless I’ve been drinking too much. I tend to sit there quietly and fidget with whatever is available. Also, I am generally accompanied by a dwarf in a viking helmet who does most of my social interaction for me. He is quite obnoxious and lacking in personal grooming habits, but I haven’t the heart to let him go. He was willed to me by an eccentric uncle in Mississippi.
FINALLY-VINDICATED-BEFORE-THE-FADEOUT-BUT-PREVIOUSLY-BREAKDOWN CAUSING-DUE TO-LAWSUIT-AGAINST-THE STATE-AFTER-BEING-SLAMMED-AGAINST-THE WALL-WHEN-INCESSANT WHISPERING-REMINDED-STABLER-OF-HIS EX-WIFE SHORTLY-AFTER-HE-TRACKED-YOU-DOWN-BEFORE THE-FIRST-BREAK-DUE-TO-SOME-ISSUE-INVOLVING-KIDS OR WOMEN-THAT-HE-COULDN’T-HANDLE-DESPITE HIS-PARTNER-ASKING-HIM-TO-TALK-ABOUT-IT WITH-HER-WHICH-LEAD-TO-HIS TEMPORARY-DISMISSAL-AT-THE-FIFTEEN-MINUTE-MARK DUE-TO-A-MISREADING-OF-THE-EVENTS-THAT-OCCURRED-BEFORE-THE-CREDITS WHORE