Was it not traumatising enough or do we just forget about that time we poofed in class, fell on our face, were rejected by hot guy/girl of the week, came last in the race, didn't get asked to the dance, were picked last in gym class, got a period/boner when we weren't expecting it and/or earned whatever derogatory nickname plagued us throughout our high school careers? There was a reason why "Crazy" preceded my name in my formative years and I will never.fucking.forget.it. In fact, just this evening my brother reminded me of the times I used to syphon Southern Comfort from my parents' bottle into an empty cough syrup container and take it school to put into my slurpees. WTF right? Amazingly enough, my parents had no idea. Muahahaha!!!
So I was out last evening at a pub with some people to see a cover band called Arena. This band specialises in 70's and 80's stadium rock (Journey, Def Leppard, Bon Jovi, Ratt, etc..) and put on a pretty good show with all of the elements one would expect; leopard spandex, aviator sunglasses, greasy hair, scarves, strobes, smoke and a KEYTAR! Killer right? Right. However, the atmosphere of this pub was surreal as tactfully stated by a friend I was with. I would have to put the average age at about 45 years old and the average mentality at about 17 years old. These people were definitely here to relive their youth.
I get the enjoyment of the music, hell I was loving it but at what point does it become sad and a little pathetic? There was the Guido jumping up and down at the front of the dance floor, shirt up around his low hanging moobs and beer gut hanging over his belt, who kept whistling into the microphone of the lead vocalist. To her credit she was very graceful about the whole thing. Next up, the bleached out blonde with last year's roots and last month's boob job squeezed into a dress belonging to her teenage daughter. Every time she kicked her leg in the air, we had a clear view into No Man's Land. The hot brunette with a killer figure and 40 year old smoker's wrinkles selling 50/50 tickets with her rack. The guy who just cannot accept that he is losing his hair and in an attempt to hold on to his youth has grown his hair out past his cul-de-sac and is wearing the same clothes he wore in high school but is filling them out in different places. Throw in some Budweiser, a few lighters, some cheap feels and you've got yourself a party.
To each their own, right? You got it. I wasn't judging these people, simply observing and figuring out how to put this experience into words. I'll be the first to admit that when flannel and oversize corduroys come back into style, I am on that like Courtney Love on a crack pipe. I'll probably go to the "Grunge" cover band show, drop acid and hide small boys in my pants while the younger generation looks on, laughs and goes home to write about it. And I WILL give them something to write about..trust me. They don't call me Crazy _____ for nothing.
Tooooooo funny!!!!!!!!!
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