And the band played on...
When I arrived at the hotel in the afternoon, there was but one old, familiar smell that greeted us in the hallways. Yes, it was only three in the afternoon but (as my dad would say) "the reefer" was already burning. Disgusted, I walked on. If nothing else, it would make for a fairly quiet evening, what with all the mellowed out party-goers. I guess pot doesn't work the way it used to...but I am getting ahead off myself.
Played around in town for a bit, shopping around and looking to get a bite to eat. Everywhere we looked, those in town for TOOL stuck out. A sea of black and red combined with melancholy and a sense of disgust, spanned across the town. They were here with their black tee shirts and hooded sweatshirts. Baggy jeans and tight vinyl. Mini skirts, plaid, safety pins, and everywhere, the sound of combat boots. Chains and piercings, tattoos and brandings. They were here and they wanted to hear some sounds that would rock them, love them, and fuck them hard. KISS has an "army". TOOL has for-hire assassins.
We got all dudded up (and FORGOT to take pics!) and walked from the hotel to the arena. On the way, a bevy of fans stood along the curb looking for friends, cigs, extra tickets, or just trying to figure out where the fuck they were, and how the hell they got there. Others just stood in the freezing rain with dazed looks. I am not sure how long they had been there...not entirely sure if they were breathing...And of course there were those who were too busy to get in line what with finding a free orifice with which to store their stash.
A female security guard started to frisk me and as she began to stoop down, she stopped and reminded herself she can't frisk guys, she has to guide them to ANOTHER security guard.
"Arms up." He stoops down in front of me in the manner of a really bad porno.
"Chains gotta go bro." I look to my side.
"My wallet chain?"
"Yup."
"Um, shit-"
"Could be used as a weapon." I am 5'11" 215 lbs and unload trucks for a living. My ENTIRE FUCKING BODY is a gawdamn weapon. I mean Christ, I would club someone in the head with my cock before I would be sissy enough to use a chain.
"Where does it go, can I pick it up after the-"
"Dude, it pretty much is going in this trash can. Sorry." Yeah, you are real fucking sorry. Oh well, I can always get a new chain.
Once inside the building, I immediately see guys walking around with industrial strength boat chain around their necks. Damn security guard...I hope to see him in the pit.
When walking through a sea of humanity, most of whom are disenchanted youths looking for meaning in thier lives but until that moment find rebellion as the only way to make peace with themselves, you got to be assertive to get from point A to point B. Or in my case, you put your game face on, tilt your head and flex through your fishnet sleeves. Like Moses through the Dead Sea I tell ya. We turned heads, that lovely chick at my side and I. Wonderful how something as simple as attractive people checking you out has a way to make everything right again.
We were seated on the second level just in time for Messuga to start their set. Surprisingly, they did not suck. In fact, their pounding bass and primitive guitar chords filled my veins with the type of Berserker rage that just makes me want to break something. Well, it was about this time Summer pointed out how from where we were sitting (essentially on the side of the stage) we couldn't see the screens hanging from the rafters. "We are probably going to want to see those, huh?" she asked. Hmmm...time to brave the inevitable claustrophobia. To the floor!
We pushed through the crowd and found a spot just big enough to bounce up and down and head bang with out killing anyone. As people moved back for air or to vomit, we moved closer. As drunk attention-starved co-eds mounted their boys' shoulders to show their boobs, all the people around stood on their tip-toes. At one point, I think I saw part of a nipple. As this was happening, the crowd (in a similar fashion to the ancient Romans) would cheer or boo depending on their appreciation of the breasts presented. Those with anything smaller than a C cup were booed. The crowd could have at least moved so those of us who appreciate a more perportionate gal could steal a glance. *Sigh* (Quick side note: How come it is so great for a chick to show her boobs anyways? You don't see guys hopping up to haul out their units. Next concert I go to...I must experiment with this. As soon as I find a buddy strong enough to hold me up long enoug to display my meat.)
Summer and I were pretty much dead center of the floor by this time as we waited for TOOL to take the stage. Smoke ahead of us. Smoke behind us. To the right. To the left. Summer laughed as I began to curse the haze of pot smoke that seemed to hover over us. Sure, the chain to keep my wallet from falling out gets thown away but the stoners get to smoke all the joints they can sneak in. Seems fair. Finally, not a minute before TOOL comes on, the guy right next to me sparks one up. Can't anyone let themsleves experience the wonder that is TOOL WITHOUT chemically altering themselves?
Summer got up on my shoulders for the the first song so she could actaully see the stage, but as soon as she did, it allowed more open floor space, so people moved in closer. And I began to get a touch warm. A Lot warm. I was FUCKING DYING!
After having my ass fondled by some preppy chick, I decided it was time to move back. It ended up working out quite nicely as I finally had room to dance, something I never do in public. Summer also got to dance which unbeknownst to her, gathered a bit of a crowd as she gave a fine display of belly dancing.
In all, the bass was amazing (you know its good when it kicks hard enough to alter you heart beat), the drums were sinful, and the vocals were unforgettable. TOOL was awesome and I will definitely check them out again. Now I must practice the advice of Maynard and masturbate feverishly for a couple hours. Better get something to drink first.
Tune in tomorrow for PART II of "And the Band Played on..." In the next chapter the hero gets denied room service, is ignored by the front desk and nearly packs up at three in the morning to go home and sleep in peace.
Played around in town for a bit, shopping around and looking to get a bite to eat. Everywhere we looked, those in town for TOOL stuck out. A sea of black and red combined with melancholy and a sense of disgust, spanned across the town. They were here with their black tee shirts and hooded sweatshirts. Baggy jeans and tight vinyl. Mini skirts, plaid, safety pins, and everywhere, the sound of combat boots. Chains and piercings, tattoos and brandings. They were here and they wanted to hear some sounds that would rock them, love them, and fuck them hard. KISS has an "army". TOOL has for-hire assassins.
We got all dudded up (and FORGOT to take pics!) and walked from the hotel to the arena. On the way, a bevy of fans stood along the curb looking for friends, cigs, extra tickets, or just trying to figure out where the fuck they were, and how the hell they got there. Others just stood in the freezing rain with dazed looks. I am not sure how long they had been there...not entirely sure if they were breathing...And of course there were those who were too busy to get in line what with finding a free orifice with which to store their stash.
A female security guard started to frisk me and as she began to stoop down, she stopped and reminded herself she can't frisk guys, she has to guide them to ANOTHER security guard.
"Arms up." He stoops down in front of me in the manner of a really bad porno.
"Chains gotta go bro." I look to my side.
"My wallet chain?"
"Yup."
"Um, shit-"
"Could be used as a weapon." I am 5'11" 215 lbs and unload trucks for a living. My ENTIRE FUCKING BODY is a gawdamn weapon. I mean Christ, I would club someone in the head with my cock before I would be sissy enough to use a chain.
"Where does it go, can I pick it up after the-"
"Dude, it pretty much is going in this trash can. Sorry." Yeah, you are real fucking sorry. Oh well, I can always get a new chain.
Once inside the building, I immediately see guys walking around with industrial strength boat chain around their necks. Damn security guard...I hope to see him in the pit.
When walking through a sea of humanity, most of whom are disenchanted youths looking for meaning in thier lives but until that moment find rebellion as the only way to make peace with themselves, you got to be assertive to get from point A to point B. Or in my case, you put your game face on, tilt your head and flex through your fishnet sleeves. Like Moses through the Dead Sea I tell ya. We turned heads, that lovely chick at my side and I. Wonderful how something as simple as attractive people checking you out has a way to make everything right again.
We were seated on the second level just in time for Messuga to start their set. Surprisingly, they did not suck. In fact, their pounding bass and primitive guitar chords filled my veins with the type of Berserker rage that just makes me want to break something. Well, it was about this time Summer pointed out how from where we were sitting (essentially on the side of the stage) we couldn't see the screens hanging from the rafters. "We are probably going to want to see those, huh?" she asked. Hmmm...time to brave the inevitable claustrophobia. To the floor!
We pushed through the crowd and found a spot just big enough to bounce up and down and head bang with out killing anyone. As people moved back for air or to vomit, we moved closer. As drunk attention-starved co-eds mounted their boys' shoulders to show their boobs, all the people around stood on their tip-toes. At one point, I think I saw part of a nipple. As this was happening, the crowd (in a similar fashion to the ancient Romans) would cheer or boo depending on their appreciation of the breasts presented. Those with anything smaller than a C cup were booed. The crowd could have at least moved so those of us who appreciate a more perportionate gal could steal a glance. *Sigh* (Quick side note: How come it is so great for a chick to show her boobs anyways? You don't see guys hopping up to haul out their units. Next concert I go to...I must experiment with this. As soon as I find a buddy strong enough to hold me up long enoug to display my meat.)
Summer and I were pretty much dead center of the floor by this time as we waited for TOOL to take the stage. Smoke ahead of us. Smoke behind us. To the right. To the left. Summer laughed as I began to curse the haze of pot smoke that seemed to hover over us. Sure, the chain to keep my wallet from falling out gets thown away but the stoners get to smoke all the joints they can sneak in. Seems fair. Finally, not a minute before TOOL comes on, the guy right next to me sparks one up. Can't anyone let themsleves experience the wonder that is TOOL WITHOUT chemically altering themselves?
Summer got up on my shoulders for the the first song so she could actaully see the stage, but as soon as she did, it allowed more open floor space, so people moved in closer. And I began to get a touch warm. A Lot warm. I was FUCKING DYING!
After having my ass fondled by some preppy chick, I decided it was time to move back. It ended up working out quite nicely as I finally had room to dance, something I never do in public. Summer also got to dance which unbeknownst to her, gathered a bit of a crowd as she gave a fine display of belly dancing.
In all, the bass was amazing (you know its good when it kicks hard enough to alter you heart beat), the drums were sinful, and the vocals were unforgettable. TOOL was awesome and I will definitely check them out again. Now I must practice the advice of Maynard and masturbate feverishly for a couple hours. Better get something to drink first.
Tune in tomorrow for PART II of "And the Band Played on..." In the next chapter the hero gets denied room service, is ignored by the front desk and nearly packs up at three in the morning to go home and sleep in peace.