October 7, 2007
One Death is a Tragedy, a Million is a Statistic
So, as the previous post noted, I was in Valdosta this weekend, to savor the experience of bone-crushing, jerry-rigged, cretin-manned, imbecile-engineered roller coasters. And to take my daughter to a concert there, at Wild Adventures, the heartthrobs du jour being Plain White T's. Why? Because I'm a spendthrift, obviously. Who else would throw away perfectly good drinking money on a concert for their kid?
So's, anyhow, the opening act (who shall remain nameless, pending litigation) put on an admirable show. Obviously been sniffing Bono's bum bum since they were trying to conjure pubes in the heady days of 6th grade, but they had some game.
Afterwards, between acts, the openers were signing tee's at a table set up. I bow before no man in my admiration of the ability of a marginal artiste to exercise opportunistic capitalism, and so Key and I were in line. Well, she was. Getting the girls shirts to be signed. I was skulking, smoking my next to the last cigarette and fretting over the fact that God-poxed theme park hadn't see fit to sell tobacco products.
And to what do my wondering eyes should appear? No, no miniature sleigh. No reindeer. But the lead singer, wearing one of the classic red tee's, with the huge yellow hammer and sickle on the front, underscored with the obligatory CCCP. I stubbed out the cigarette with my toe and wandered over. The setting? About 40 or 50 people. Some older teens, mostly parents with younger teens getting tee's autographed for their kids.
"Speaking of T shirts," I yelled at the guy, jabbing a forefinger at his chest from across the table, "I'm hoping that's supposed to be ironic."
"Ooh," I heard from the crowd. "Ugh," I heard from the crowd.
Because, while this was Valdosta, Georgia, and while these people may have agreed with me philosophically, at this point all I represented to them was a Fucking Troublemaker, who might just turn this likeable friendly pop dude sour, and send him scurrying to his tour bus for a blunt and a pull of Jack Daniels', and the masses be damned. And then their little pwecious Cornpone Princesses wouldn't get their signed T shirts. It was as if Mephistopheles himself had bared his barbed cock at them.
"You might as well wear a swastiker!" I offered helpfully, to the stony glare of Key, and the general opprobrium of the audience.
"Shit!" I heard someone in the crowd mutter. The worm was definitely turning, and I was the bait. I sensed a bums rush by a couple of the burlier dads, with a kidney punching in a dark corner should little Celeste not get her fucking shiny tee shirt.
So when the little punk bitch gave me a sullen "The Cold War's over, man," I swallowed my impulse to retort, "Yeah, well, so are the 60 million lives that fucking sickle mowed down," and walked off in search of a 14 year old girl who would be too scared to deny a crusty old fart a cigarette.
All in all, I would say, a rather refreshing interlude. And I have to admit, that hammer and sickle tee was pretty damn cool. Wish I had one.
... still can't have you out in public yet, eh?..... but hey, for what it is worth, you were right on with your sickle comment.... tee-shirts or no.....
Posted by: Eric at October 7, 2007 10:02 PMYa shouldna let slip yer wish for a red hammerin-sickle T-shirt -- now summons likely as not gunna give ya wun at that blog meet.
Posted by: Bob at October 8, 2007 1:38 AMCommie bastard sure did not mind grabbing a little capitalist cash for his merchandise though.
Posted by: Hoosierboy at October 8, 2007 9:19 AM60 million people doesnt mean that much based on the exchange rate for an Americans life. Mostly Ural Mt. mongrels are what make the radioactive fields of the Ukrain so green, right?
Posted by: JohnB at October 8, 2007 9:32 AMEven Alanis Morissette would've found that ironic. You should have offered to buy his t-shirt to gauge his capitalist tendancies.
Posted by: rankin' rob at October 8, 2007 10:26 AM.. Rob definitely has a point....
Posted by: Eric at October 8, 2007 9:29 PMVman, I like your style! Give 'em a history lesson to go with the concert. Damn straight! BTW, "Who else would throw away perfectly good drinking money on a concert for their kid?" That would be me and my better half. Not only payed for the concert, but I chauferred the daughter and two friends to Canada to see Red Hot Chili Peppers. I got within spitting distance of Flea as he got off his tour bus. I probably got closer than any of the people who actually wanted to see him.
I got to wait outside - hey would you want to be seen with your mother? So, I decided to get a cup of coffee. Well, actually I picked up a young tattooed man with spiky hair and took him to get some coffee. I met him near the entrance to the concert. "Jeremy" had come to see the concert with his girlfriend and a couple of others. On the ferry ride from Victoria, his girlfriend lost her ticket. So, being a chivalrous tattooed man, Jeremy had given her his and foregone the concert himself. I figured an act of generosity like that deserved some kind of recognition (although I suspect he got rewarded by his girlfriend later), so I took him for coffee. Turned out he worked as a welder, and had multiple tattooes and piercings. I got a viewing of the less private ones. Seemed like a pretty nice boy, in spite of the strange appearance. He was good for killing time, anyhow.
After the concert let out, he rejoined his friends and I hunted for my daughter and hers. Apparently my sweet child turns vicious and jabs people with her sharp little elbows when her personal space is invaded. Her friends were pleased with this trait, as they managed to work their way up to the front of the crowd by following her lead. She, however, was out of sorts at the rudeness of Canadians. So she grumped the rest of the way home, which it turns out was a long way.
I had no idea they closed some of the border crossings at night. We discovered this when we tried to return the way we came. We ended up taking an alternate route, through the fog, and arrived at an open crossing at 2 a.m.
The border guard was twiddling his thumbs, bored out of his skull. So, he interrogated us at some length about our visit. At some point later, cranky Miss Sharp Elbows made a smartass remark and was subsequently invited to a cavity search. He didn't actually follow through, but I did get silence the rest of the way home. Bed felt so good after that trip ... I felt bad that those poor girls had to go to school at 7:30 later that morning. Not.
I get it. You're practicing for your annual "Scold The Young Rapscallions Tubing Down The Chattahoochee" performance art. Try not to get your ass kicked by a 11 year-old again this year, dude.
Posted by: zonker at October 9, 2007 8:23 AMHush up midget chaser... Hell, one of 'em out ran you in an airport and your legs are long as a a giraffe,'s and so's your neck.
A mulleted giraffe. That's what I wanna see 'fore I die. With arm tat's down to the wrist, totin' liquor, and cig's sportin' a Hammer and Sickle T-shirt. With 14 midgets hangin' off it's neck... 7 a side, for balance. Distribute the weight. You'll catch that midget.
Show me 1 redneck russian. I'll show him how to fuck with the problem.
A redneck cuban will do in a pinch. They're kinda interchangeable, if you can find one. Most are floatin' '56 chevys across the pond to hit pay dirt.
Sorry 'bout the smoke situation Vman. I hate it when that happens.
Your goilfriend and you don't even give the courtesy of a link? I'm sorry bro, dat's fuct up.
Posted by: Erica at October 11, 2007 9:27 PMWere you wearing your German beer maid's outfit? If I had known you were going to dress up like that I would have walked to Helen...
Posted by: Libby at October 14, 2007 4:19 PMSoo whatever happened to the blow up sheep with garters?
Posted by: Jason at October 16, 2007 2:01 PM