2004-08-12 - 4:23 p.m.
A Weekend of Uneventful Weekend Events in three parts [Part III]
SUNDAY NIGHT or You Don’t Get What You Don’t Pay For
So I leave the bar and go back into the crowd. Witnessed a shouting match between two shirtless, muscled gay men. It was almost frightening to watch. At the same time, it seemed like a contest to see who had the higher-pitched shriek. The taller guy would’ve lost, as he had it hands-down in the testosterone department.
Walked over to the booth where a photographer friend was selling his photos and books. Talked a bit about his new place and new book. Told him I was going to see A Flock of Seagulls and Lady Miss Kier. He wished me luck, and I headed off to the 7-11 parking lot to stake out a place near the front of the stage. Traded sarcastic comments about this incarnation of the band with the guys standing behind me. Turns out that this version of A Flock of Seagulls consisted of the original singer and three hired-hands who looked more like washed-up roadies than washed-up rock stars. Sure the wrinkles and paunches were there, but it seemed liked they’d always been there. In a strange way, it was kind of fun to see what age had done to the singer, but for the rest of the band—for example, their long hair seemed like it had been that way since the ‘70s—I had no reference point. This disappointed me.
As the sarcastic guys and I traded insults, I noticed a guy standing several feet behind them. Finally, an interesting face! I couldn’t help looking at the guy, and I noticed him looking at me. He looked familiar and I tried to think if I knew him from somewhere. Was he one of the guys we used to hang out with when we were teenagers? Was he my friend M’s boyfriend. I couldn’t figure it out, and every time I looked at him, he seemed to already be looking at me. Let’s see: Almond-shaped eyes. Pale skin. Short. After several glances, I realized that he reminded me of the kid in the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind. There was something very gray alien about him.
At 8:15 the band hadn’t started yet, and a girl standing in front of me told me she’d planned on seeing a bit of the band and then heading over to see Lady Miss Kier. I told her I’d planned on doing the same. Things weren’t looking good. The sarcasm twins hoped that the guys in the band were only roadies, setting up the equipment, but I was quite certain that this is what we were getting. Alien boy and I exchanged glances. “William It Was Really Nothing” by the Smiths played through the PA system. Fan girl and I looked at each other and sang along. At 8:30, A Flock of Has-Beens took the stage. They started out with “Modern Love is Automatic” (or was it “Telecommunication”?) from their first record. When the lead singer announced, “This next song is called ‘Magic’ and it’s from a record that came out seven years ago,” the sarcasm twins, fan girl, and her friend made a beeline through the crowd. I followed, and alien boy stood right in front of me.
“Oh,” he said. “Do you wanna get through?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Thanks,” I said and pushed my way through the crowds to go see Lady Miss Kier.
I got to Lady Miss Kier’s stage a bit before 9 and she hadn’t started yet. “Great!” I thought. While I waited, I saw the cutest girl ever. Model thin, simple clothes, nice skin, nice hair. She smiled and I smiled back. I thought we had chemistry; turns out it was only fantasy. I wanted to ask any of the guys standing around me what they thought of her, but figured it would be futile. Her suburban-looking b-boy boyfriend came up behind her, put his arm around her, and she kissed him. So we waited for Lady Miss Kier to start. The crowd was growing antsy as she came off the stage to sign autographs. After about fifteen minutes, she got back up on stage and stood behind two turntable and a mixer.
This was it?!? I left A Flock of Seagulls for this? Lady Miss Kier was plagued by technical difficulties. A tallish, pan-tranny stepped in front of the short gay guy standing next to me. “Don’t worry, honey! We still love you!” he shouted. He turned to the audience and to no one in particular, “Don’t we?”
“Uh uh, girl!” said the short gay guy, now angry. “Girl,” he said to the trans-fella, “you are NOT gonna stand in front of me.” A loud buzz was the only sound that came from the speakers. It sounded as if the turn tables weren’t ground. I got angry, and—figuring that hearing a band that sucked was better than hearing technical problems that sucked—I went back to see A Flock of Seagulls. I got there just in time for the end of their set, and for the encore “Telecommunication” (or was it “Modern Love is Automatic”?). Alien boy was still there, jumping up and down with his friends, and staring at me.
The music ended and, hungry and tired, I decided to leave. As I walked toward the gate, I saw an artist that I know. He asked where I was headed and I told him and he told me, and before he could ask if I wanted to hang out, I told him that I was tired and had to leave. As I walked out of the gate, a large man, who resembled Santa Claus in shorts and sandals, smiled at me and asked, “How are you?” “Fine, thanks.” I replied. Lucky for me, I was too tired to even have a pointless conversation.
Got home, started making a list and checking it twice, and decided this year was naughty and hoped next year is nice.
