"eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee"
thats all i hear. thats all ill ever hear from now on, it seems. apparently, leaning in front of the foremost speaker at a concert for three hours is the quickest way to blow your ears out. who would have thought they would play so...loud? ha. ha.
i drove to west hollywood to see some bands at the troubadour last night. for those of you who have never been to the troubadour, its a seedy bar/pub on santa monica blvd. thats about the size of my fist . i think the capacity of the area around the stage is about 75, and there were well over 200 people in attendance. perfect for those who like to keep fellow concert go-ers within groping distance. there was this one guy behind me who kept gyrating against my backside during story of the year's run. i was not pleased. i tried keeping him at bay with my left arm while supporting myself against the stage with my right. it didnt help very much. the bastard was relentless, and even managed to poke my eye while flailing his lanky arms to "anthem of our dying day." what a bitch, i thought. after about two songs i had had enough, so i decked him in the throat with the back of my hand, twice, and tried to make it look as if i had inadvertently smacked him while 'rocking' out.' when i felt the pushing had stopped, i turned around to see if he was still there. he was giving me the look. you know, the one accompanied by the 'you want a piece of this, foo?' stance. and even though i couldn't hear a word he was screaming, i imagine he was throwing every expletive he knew my way. normally, i would have turned my attention back to the band and ignored 'mr. dry hump' (as i had nicknamed him in my mind). after all, he was out of my personal bubble then, and thats all i really wanted. but i soon remembered i was in west hollywood (santa monica blvd., no less!), and not being one to pass up an opportunity to fuck with someone's head, i gazed intently into his face with the best doey-eyed impression i could muster, and with great deliberation i licked my upper lip---slowly---from left to right, blew a kiss, smiled effusively, and made the 'call me' gesture with my hand. at which point, a wave of perplexity seemed to pass over his entire person, breaking his 'you want a piece of me, foo?' stance and causing him to mumble something along the lines of 'wtf?'. shortly thereafter he retreated to the other side of the room, where he made some poor fellow his bitch and prison-styled him for the rest of the night.
to my good fortune, the void caused by his absence was filled by two very nice smelling girls who, despite their steely hardcore punk exterior, were kind enough to restrict their hand gestures to the air rather than to the back of my head. i was a little distraught when they left early, because it was right before saosin came out and all the rabid saosin fans rushed to the front to get as near to the action as possible. without my buffer of fresh scented (yet stalwart!) punk chicks, i was nearly trampled upon by the bison-like herd of sweaty teens.
on a high note, i met a pleasant girl while we were being crushed against the same speaker. she asked me what time it was. i turned to her and said, "9:30." she said, "you didnt look at your watch." i said, "nope." she said, "you dont have a watch, do you?" i said, "nope." she said, "dork," but very low---almost inaudible---and let out a small laugh.
she wanted me. she would have totally jumped my bones then and there had the band not started. i could tell.
the rest of the show was fun, but unremarkable. the lead singer of stutterfly had a habit of swinging the mic by the cord like that guy in kung pow ("...swinging my chain...swinging my chain...") and i was afraid the mic was going to disconnect and hit someone in the crowd. same with the lead singer of saosin (except he had the presence of mind to duck tape the mic to the cord before they started). name taken's front man was either making out with the mic or pressing his rather impressive nose against it, and i worried for the lead singers of the bands to come later because what if, by some odd twist of fate, one of them lost function of their own mic and they were forced to borrow name taken's? wouldnt they be too distracted by the boogers and slobber dripping off the mic to perform?
gross.
the show ended around 10pm, and when i finally found the exit to the 405, i booked it at 90mph to get home in a record-setting 45 minutes. roundtrip, the ladykiller (i.e. my corolla) only used up about two and a quarter bars of gas. with gas prices at 2.09/gallon, that car is the shit.
i should mention my impression of west hollywood---santa monica blvd. in particular. i saw more gay on that strip of road than ive seen the entire time i was in san francisco. the gay and lesbian bookstore, the gay and lesbian nightclub, the gay.com billboard (which was pretty funny until i put my glasses on and realized it didnt say 'gap.com'---well no, actually it was still pretty funny after ). never have i seen so many hot pants on so many topless males. buff ones, at that. frightening. and so many fit people! joggers everywhere. joggers and their dogs. i saw a guy running on the sidewalk when we got to hollywood....and a few hours later i saw him pass us by when we got stuck in traffic (the only reason i recognized him was because he was wearing these blindingly bright red-orange shorts---a kind of pair david hasselhoff would wear). i was like, damn, everyone's a marathon runner down here. where were all the fat people? i saw one fat guy, and he looked like kevin smith. hell, probably was kevin smith. i should have asked.
im going to the drive-thru concert in anaheim in a few weeks. a monday, i think. itll be the first and last time i ditch a college class---this semester. on a slightly related note, i suspect my peer adviser is not as cute as she sounds over the phone (i called her this afternoon because...i was bored.)
oh yeah, ian and i finally drank the moxie. ill talk about the earth-shattering, cataclysmic repercussions later.