Brushes With Greatness
And have there been a lot of them lately.
My sister and her friends just left. They spent spring break here in San Francisco and I put them up for the week, and now they're gone. But they left a lot of beer. On their second night here they took me to the grocery store and made straight for the liquor aisle, which meant I'd be going through the checkout line. One six-pack of Hornsby's hard cider, one six-pack of Coors Light and one 24-ouncer of Schlitz malt liquor picked out by my sister. I couldn't have been prouder. The only time I've felt more accomplished as a big brother was the year she asked for Circle Jerks albums for Christmas. Oddly, they left having only drank only two bottles of cider, one can of beer, and the Schlitz, most of which my sister ended up dumping down the drain. Nine beverages left in the fridge. It's clear what I have to do.
But on to the matter at hand. It started a few weeks ago when I went to the Covered Wagon to see the Black Halos, one of my favorite bands. The Black Halos are the kind of band that can somewhat soothe the pain often felt by those who wish they'd been around in the '70s to see such greats as the New York Dolls, the Dead Boys and heyday Ramones. I first saw them about a year and a half ago and was just as amazed by the way they sounded as I was by the large quantities of snot that kept making it's way out of singer Billy Hopeless's nose and onto his face while he strangled himself with the microphone cable. After they played I saw him sitting alone on a bench with yellow eyes rolling around in his head. He looked infected. With what I don't know.
My sister's friends also left an incredible amount of ice cream here. A pint and a half of Ben & Jerry's and some vanilla. Also chocolate syrup, peanuts, whipped cream and maraschino cherries. Two bottles of hard cider down.
I've seen the Black Halos twice more since then, but this last show was the first time I'd gotten to meet any of them. The band has a fairly active mailing list, to which the two guitar players and Billy Hopeless himself post frequently. I mentioned the snot and the yellow eyes to the list and asked if Billy had hepatitis. I also said I'd buy them drinks at their upcoming San Francisco show. They assured me that Billy was hep-free and that I'd be the most popular kid on my block if I bought them drinks. So the night came. I got to the venue early, forgetting that all shows start at least 45 minutes late, and there he was, leaning against the bar: Billy Hopeless.
"Hey, are you Billy?" I asked.
"Yeah, how are you?" he said, with shocking coherency.
"Good. I've talked to you before. I'm Sean, from your mailing list."
He recognized the name, and took me over to meet Jay and Rich, the guitar players. "This is Sean, from the mailing list," he said.
"Oh yeah," Rich said, "you're the guy that's going to buy us a bunch of drinks," he said, and nudged me in the ribs.
"Yeah, sure," I said. "Free drinks for anyone who's a Black Halo."
"Don't worry about it, they give us free beer here. You don't have spend your money."
I asked if he was sure, and he was. I was confused. What kind of ass-kicking leather-clad rockers were they anyway? Aren't they supposed to spit in my eye, take my money and vomit on my shoes? Maybe it's because they're Canadian. As an American, their politeness confused and disoriented me.
Rich introduced me to Jay, and we talked for a while before the first band started. I knew it was a magical moment when whoever was running the stereo system put on "Sex Bomb" by Flipper.
Four hard ciders and all the vanilla ice cream down. Time to move on to the Coors Light. I've never had a Coors Light. The can says it's "premium beer," though, so expectations are high.
About a week and a half ago I was making my usual perusal of the list when a name caught my eye. It was a band I'd never heard of, the Original Sinners, but a sidenote mentioned that it consisted of Excene Cervenka and members of the Distillers. Excene Cervenka, for those who don't know, was one of the members of X, a swell West Coast band formed in the late '70s. Not quite as punk as one might expect (I believe there's footage of them stopping a concert once to ask the crowd to please stop spitting on them); they are one of my long-time favorites. Any chance to see Excene Cervenka in the flesh was bound to be a memorable experience, and Baby Jesus knows I love the Distillers.
Coors Light is not very good. I'm not much of a beer fan to begin with. In fact, the only beers I've tried that I liked were Sapporo and Heineken. Not that I'm some kind of snobbish import drinker. I just haven't tried very many beers. Four more cans to go. And plenty of ice cream.
The Original Sinners were playing at the same place I'd seen the Black Halos not long before. They played a great set, and afterwards I approached the stage to tell Excene good job. "Thanks," she said. Her hand was around the neck of a guitar she was putting away, but she stuck her elbow out and said "Wanna shake my elbow?"
DO I???
When I leave this world I can die knowing that I've made physical contact with Excene Cervenka--with her elbow. Also she gave me a sticker.
Coors Light is really bad. Ice cream is good though, even when you're working on what must be your second pint. A normal person might not be able to eat this much ice cream, but this is light beer I'm drinking with it, so it all balances out.
But the real find of that evening was the opening band, The Beautys. Every now and then you discover a band that makes it hard to go to sleep for the next week or so because their songs are stuck your head. So it was with the Beautys. After they played, I went to the little merchandise corner to see if they had any CDs, and got to meet the amazing Chica Baby, the singer/guitar player.
"Your band was great. Do you have any CDs for sale?" I said.
Actually, I'm just sort of making up dialogue as I go here, but you all get the gist of it. For all I know I may have said her band was the "rockinest." I may have even said "rockin' super-bad." To tell the truth I'm spending less time thinking about what I'm going to say next than I am fixing typos, caused not only from the drinking but also because my hands have started with some kind of sugar-induced tremor from all the ice cream.
Anyway, she showed me a vast assortment of one CD and a single, then asked "Can I interest you in a pair of underwear?" and produced a pair of pink women's underwear with The Beautys printed on the front. "Only five dollars." She proceeded with a very convincing sales pitch about how I could clumsily hide them between the cushions of my couch to impress friends when they come over.
I had to admit it was classy, but not five-dollars classy. Maybe five dollars is a good price for a pair of panties, I'm not really sure what the going rate is on women's underwear, but I declined to buy them. I said I still wanted the CD, though. It was ten dollars, and I gave her a twenty. When she was only able to come up with nine dollars change, she threw in the panties for a buck. Later that night when I was leaving the club, some homeless guy approached me and asked if I had any change or cigarettes. I said no, but offered him the panties, which he accepted.
My head also hurts. I'm not sure if that's from all the beer or from eating all this ice cream too fast.
One week later, I checked the Beautys' web site and saw they were playing the Stork Club in Oakland that very night. The Stork Club is just a hop, skip and a jump away from here, so I went.
Standing off to the side watching the first band that night, I noticed someone next to me who looked very much like the same girl who'd sold me the underwear a week ago.
"Did I buy a CD from you last week?" I asked her.
"I don't know..."
"Were you at the Covered Wagon last week?"
"Yeah... you look familiar."
"I think I did buy your CD."
"Our next one will be better," she said apologetically.
"I liked the one I bought."
"Oh, you were making an ugly face, like you were thinking 'I want my money back, you fucking bastards.'"
"Yeah that's my regular face. But I enjoyed the CD. And the panties."
"Oh! Now I remember you. Are you wearing them right now?"
I had to admit that I'd given them away that very same night. She seemed disappointed. I'm not sure why. You'd think they'd be appreciative of free advertising throughout the homeless sector. I know that if someone distributed thingsihate.org clothing to the homeless, I'd sure be thankful. I asked her if they'd play "Shut Yer Pie Hole," my favorite song from the CD I bought, "for me and the homeless guy."
"Fuck the homeless guy," she said. "But we'll play it for you."
I wonder if this hand-shaking is actually some kind of DT warning sign. Wait, you only get DTs when you haven't been drinking, right? I guess that means I'd better start on this last beer.
Coincidentally, the Beautys opened their set that night with a smashing song called "DTs," which I hope is on their upcoming album. Just before their last song, Chica Baby pointed straight at me and I knew my song was coming up next.
I'm out of beer and I'm out of ice cream, which I guess means I should start wrapping up this sure-to-be-the-longest-ever thingsihate.org article.
Before the evening ended, I jackassedly interrupted whatever conversation Chica Baby was holding with some other people, and told her they played a great show and I hoped they'd come back soon.
"Don't worry, we'll be back in August," she said.
I said something like "cool" or "swell," and then told her to have fun at the rest of their shows.
"I'll try. It'll be hard without you there."
Awww.
One day when Billy Hopeless, Excene Cervenka and Chica Baby are laughing it up together in rock star heaven, and I'm stuck in stupid fawning groupie heaven, I'll at least be able to look back and... and.. ah jesus i dont' know i'm going to bed.
But on to the matter at hand. It started a few weeks ago when I went to the Covered Wagon to see the Black Halos, one of my favorite bands. The Black Halos are the kind of band that can somewhat soothe the pain often felt by those who wish they'd been around in the '70s to see such greats as the New York Dolls, the Dead Boys and heyday Ramones. I first saw them about a year and a half ago and was just as amazed by the way they sounded as I was by the large quantities of snot that kept making it's way out of singer Billy Hopeless's nose and onto his face while he strangled himself with the microphone cable. After they played I saw him sitting alone on a bench with yellow eyes rolling around in his head. He looked infected. With what I don't know.
My sister's friends also left an incredible amount of ice cream here. A pint and a half of Ben & Jerry's and some vanilla. Also chocolate syrup, peanuts, whipped cream and maraschino cherries. Two bottles of hard cider down.
I've seen the Black Halos twice more since then, but this last show was the first time I'd gotten to meet any of them. The band has a fairly active mailing list, to which the two guitar players and Billy Hopeless himself post frequently. I mentioned the snot and the yellow eyes to the list and asked if Billy had hepatitis. I also said I'd buy them drinks at their upcoming San Francisco show. They assured me that Billy was hep-free and that I'd be the most popular kid on my block if I bought them drinks. So the night came. I got to the venue early, forgetting that all shows start at least 45 minutes late, and there he was, leaning against the bar: Billy Hopeless.
"Hey, are you Billy?" I asked.
"Yeah, how are you?" he said, with shocking coherency.
"Good. I've talked to you before. I'm Sean, from your mailing list."
He recognized the name, and took me over to meet Jay and Rich, the guitar players. "This is Sean, from the mailing list," he said.
"Oh yeah," Rich said, "you're the guy that's going to buy us a bunch of drinks," he said, and nudged me in the ribs.
"Yeah, sure," I said. "Free drinks for anyone who's a Black Halo."
"Don't worry about it, they give us free beer here. You don't have spend your money."
I asked if he was sure, and he was. I was confused. What kind of ass-kicking leather-clad rockers were they anyway? Aren't they supposed to spit in my eye, take my money and vomit on my shoes? Maybe it's because they're Canadian. As an American, their politeness confused and disoriented me.
Rich introduced me to Jay, and we talked for a while before the first band started. I knew it was a magical moment when whoever was running the stereo system put on "Sex Bomb" by Flipper.
Four hard ciders and all the vanilla ice cream down. Time to move on to the Coors Light. I've never had a Coors Light. The can says it's "premium beer," though, so expectations are high.
About a week and a half ago I was making my usual perusal of the list when a name caught my eye. It was a band I'd never heard of, the Original Sinners, but a sidenote mentioned that it consisted of Excene Cervenka and members of the Distillers. Excene Cervenka, for those who don't know, was one of the members of X, a swell West Coast band formed in the late '70s. Not quite as punk as one might expect (I believe there's footage of them stopping a concert once to ask the crowd to please stop spitting on them); they are one of my long-time favorites. Any chance to see Excene Cervenka in the flesh was bound to be a memorable experience, and Baby Jesus knows I love the Distillers.
Coors Light is not very good. I'm not much of a beer fan to begin with. In fact, the only beers I've tried that I liked were Sapporo and Heineken. Not that I'm some kind of snobbish import drinker. I just haven't tried very many beers. Four more cans to go. And plenty of ice cream.
The Original Sinners were playing at the same place I'd seen the Black Halos not long before. They played a great set, and afterwards I approached the stage to tell Excene good job. "Thanks," she said. Her hand was around the neck of a guitar she was putting away, but she stuck her elbow out and said "Wanna shake my elbow?"
DO I???
When I leave this world I can die knowing that I've made physical contact with Excene Cervenka--with her elbow. Also she gave me a sticker.
Coors Light is really bad. Ice cream is good though, even when you're working on what must be your second pint. A normal person might not be able to eat this much ice cream, but this is light beer I'm drinking with it, so it all balances out.
But the real find of that evening was the opening band, The Beautys. Every now and then you discover a band that makes it hard to go to sleep for the next week or so because their songs are stuck your head. So it was with the Beautys. After they played, I went to the little merchandise corner to see if they had any CDs, and got to meet the amazing Chica Baby, the singer/guitar player.
"Your band was great. Do you have any CDs for sale?" I said.
Actually, I'm just sort of making up dialogue as I go here, but you all get the gist of it. For all I know I may have said her band was the "rockinest." I may have even said "rockin' super-bad." To tell the truth I'm spending less time thinking about what I'm going to say next than I am fixing typos, caused not only from the drinking but also because my hands have started with some kind of sugar-induced tremor from all the ice cream.
Anyway, she showed me a vast assortment of one CD and a single, then asked "Can I interest you in a pair of underwear?" and produced a pair of pink women's underwear with The Beautys printed on the front. "Only five dollars." She proceeded with a very convincing sales pitch about how I could clumsily hide them between the cushions of my couch to impress friends when they come over.
I had to admit it was classy, but not five-dollars classy. Maybe five dollars is a good price for a pair of panties, I'm not really sure what the going rate is on women's underwear, but I declined to buy them. I said I still wanted the CD, though. It was ten dollars, and I gave her a twenty. When she was only able to come up with nine dollars change, she threw in the panties for a buck. Later that night when I was leaving the club, some homeless guy approached me and asked if I had any change or cigarettes. I said no, but offered him the panties, which he accepted.
My head also hurts. I'm not sure if that's from all the beer or from eating all this ice cream too fast.
One week later, I checked the Beautys' web site and saw they were playing the Stork Club in Oakland that very night. The Stork Club is just a hop, skip and a jump away from here, so I went.
Standing off to the side watching the first band that night, I noticed someone next to me who looked very much like the same girl who'd sold me the underwear a week ago.
"Did I buy a CD from you last week?" I asked her.
"I don't know..."
"Were you at the Covered Wagon last week?"
"Yeah... you look familiar."
"I think I did buy your CD."
"Our next one will be better," she said apologetically.
"I liked the one I bought."
"Oh, you were making an ugly face, like you were thinking 'I want my money back, you fucking bastards.'"
"Yeah that's my regular face. But I enjoyed the CD. And the panties."
"Oh! Now I remember you. Are you wearing them right now?"
I had to admit that I'd given them away that very same night. She seemed disappointed. I'm not sure why. You'd think they'd be appreciative of free advertising throughout the homeless sector. I know that if someone distributed thingsihate.org clothing to the homeless, I'd sure be thankful. I asked her if they'd play "Shut Yer Pie Hole," my favorite song from the CD I bought, "for me and the homeless guy."
"Fuck the homeless guy," she said. "But we'll play it for you."
I wonder if this hand-shaking is actually some kind of DT warning sign. Wait, you only get DTs when you haven't been drinking, right? I guess that means I'd better start on this last beer.
Coincidentally, the Beautys opened their set that night with a smashing song called "DTs," which I hope is on their upcoming album. Just before their last song, Chica Baby pointed straight at me and I knew my song was coming up next.
I'm out of beer and I'm out of ice cream, which I guess means I should start wrapping up this sure-to-be-the-longest-ever thingsihate.org article.
Before the evening ended, I jackassedly interrupted whatever conversation Chica Baby was holding with some other people, and told her they played a great show and I hoped they'd come back soon.
"Don't worry, we'll be back in August," she said.
I said something like "cool" or "swell," and then told her to have fun at the rest of their shows.
"I'll try. It'll be hard without you there."
Awww.
One day when Billy Hopeless, Excene Cervenka and Chica Baby are laughing it up together in rock star heaven, and I'm stuck in stupid fawning groupie heaven, I'll at least be able to look back and... and.. ah jesus i dont' know i'm going to bed.