Four Fails and a Win

Posted: May 29, 2013 in Self-Deprecation
Tags: , , ,

No, this isn’t the tale of the wedding between Cortana and myself–  that’s the last entry on the backlog.  Fret not, it’ll be coming soon.  No, this is one of those entries that could only happen to yours truly, and the amalgamated fuckpile of ridiculousness that seems to pervade my existence.  What’s that you say?  Make like Monty Python and “Get on with it!”?  Yeah, I guess I can do that– because I love you all in an entirely inappropriate no-means-no-don’t-stop kind of way.

It all started at the laundromat.  Seriously, that’s where I discovered that The Fabulous Miss Wendy (more appropriately the Femme Fest 2013 tour) was going to be this far east again.  Sparing the extensive explication and back-story, I fanboy-ed out so hard when I made this discovery– I was jumping up and down like a tween with Bieber tickets in front of the commercial-sized washers.  I can only imagine what the people across the street at the Chinese joint were saying when they saw how well I can fold while hopping and dancing.  Wait, there’s more– that disturbingly age-inappropriate fanboy reaction was then accompanied by a giggle and a squee when my boss gave me Friday night off to take the wife to the show.

Yes, bastards and bitches, I squee-ed.  Wendy’s worth it.  Deal with it.

Therefore, Judd Nelson.

You can try to judge me, but you cannot fathom the sheer quantity of fuck that I cannot be bothered to give right now.

So, fanboy wood aside, this brings me to Fail #1:  The venue was in Kane, PA.  I could avoid saying anything further, as I should have known better than do anything besides take a desperation shit in this town, but…  my fanboy goggles were cramping my style.  In line with the classic “but wait– there’s more” theme, if the town wasn’t indication enough that someone’s promoter got a toothless blowjob in some back alley to book this stop… the venue said it all:  Corban’s Temple Skating Rink.  For those of you not paying attention, yes, that is a Freewebs domain address.

Feel free to judge all you want.  Fun fact– any judgements you could have made from the website are going to be grossly inadequate to describe how much of a run-down pit this place was.  In other words, it has the same grievous-health-code-violating charm as a dive bar (I love dive bars) minus the alcohol.  In other words, it reeked of feet and fail.

Speaking of fails– this brings us to Fail #2:  Cortana and I were running on our usual relativistic timeframe which made us 2 hours late for “doors open.”  In Kane, PA, apparently “doors open” is also synonymous with “we’re kicking this shit off.”

Right about now, putting the clues of fails #1 & 2 together would lead you to #3.  I also know that my readers are into that whole instant gratification bit so…  just look below.

This wasn't any less awkward after drinking.

Anyone else getting that 10th-birthday-party vibe? Yeahhhhhh….

Behold Fail #3—  the predominant age at this “concert” was well under 18.  Those that were over appeared to have IQ’s of… well under 18.  Speaking of the Judd Nelson reference above, there was even a kid there who was clearly the coolest little bastard in the rink (also taller than me on skates) that could have been some kind of stray sperm from Herr Nelson that found a way to grow into a bigger disappointment.  Yes, he was even wearing the finger gloves–  I can’t make this shit up.

Needless to say, Cortana and I exchanged awk-warrrrddd glances after realizing that the bands were between sets.  (Refer back to Fail #2.)

This leads us to Fail Numero Quattro–  Cortana and I went across the street to the only open bar in the area.  Mind you, the window said closed (at fucking 9pm on a Friday fucking night, further testament to how hard Kane fails at everything), but the bartender was all too unenthusiastic to stay open.  Here, the predominant age was over 65, and strangely less awkward than the roller-tween “concert.”  We were so comfortable– we apparently missed the memo that the headliner (you know, the Fabulous One) was swapping up with one of the other acts due to “difficulties.”  Let me put this into perspective, we almost missed the entire goddamn reason we were in that desolate shithole town– because hanging out with a bunch of senior citizens was more palatable to us because there was available booze.

Not to mention, Szymanskis (at least that’s where I think we were) didn’t seem like the building itself was going to fall upon us– nor did we have the sneaking suspicion that there might be a syphilitic rapist lurking in a secret passageway somewhere (all jocularity aside, the skate rink should be condemned.)  If I hadn’t flogged this dead horse to the point where it might pass as British hamburger, let me say it again: I hope that whomever was in charge of booking this tour didn’t fail this hard for the every venue.

Is it time for the win?  Oh yeah, it sure is, and it’s not limited to this:

Matched pair!!

This is not the only win that came of this trip. Read on.

This is how to define winning.  Wendy, Fabulous as she is, was not nearly as phased by the less-than-ideal abortion of a booking that she and her fellow musicians were given.  In fact, she reacted as a real performer does– she had a fucking blast.  Seriously, she rocked out for the collected grab bags of genetic party favors just as hard as she did the first two times I saw her– utterly unphased by her surroundings.  In fact, after her set was over, she was taking pictures, signing autographs, and generally being awesome to everyone there– well into the next set.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is what a performer does.  This is what a musician does.  In the face of perhaps the worst booking I’ve ever had the privilege to see (and I once went to an indy/punk show based out of a guy’s mom’s garage), Wendy did what she does best– be fabulous.  She clearly didn’t give nearly a quarter of a rat’s ass about her surroundings and generally rocked it like she didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.

… is it bad that I kinda wanted the whole scenario to have been an ill-advertised benefit because one of the kids was dying?  You know, not for the po-dunk kid dying part, but it’d just make the whole situation that much more justifiable.

Moral of the story:  don’t stop in Kane, PA unless you need to take an emergency lava shit…  or you happen to have tickets to see The Fabulous Miss Wendy.

Unplug.

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