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As most people who know me know; I'm not a huge fan of life and more importantly people relating stories from their own life to me. Actually, that's wrong. I don't mind when other people do it, I just don't like doing it myself. I don't enjoy being like "One time..." or "Man, a couple days ago..." There's points when it's relating, and being like "Oh, I remember once I was in a similar situation, here's the skinny..." and that's fine. I don't mind that. I just don't like telling stories of my life out of the blue. Except for this one. I tell it quite frequently. This story, whenever I tell it, gets shrugged aside. I don't know why. Either people don't believe me, which, is astounding. It's not that amazing. Or, more likely, they don't think it's important. The first one is disconcerting to myself, but worse is the second one. That option is disconcerting for everyone I've told it to. If you don't believe this shit is important or fucking hilarious, you good sir or madame, are a fucktard.
I used to work at Woodwind and Brasswind when it was a big deal. When it still was the biggest music store in the world and just opened and people were stoked about it. We would get famous musicians in by the busload. Tour bus load, I guess. Wakka Wakka. Most I don't care about. Faith Hill, yawn. Joe Satriani, go buy your outdated effects pedals somewhere else, homo. Steve Vai, Satriani is waiting for you in the over-doing it department. The only band I met there that I actually liked was At the Drive-in, when they were still At the Drive-in and not whatever dismembered Frankenstein Mars Volta Sparta monster they are now. Regardless, this isn't about them. This is about the greatest celebrity I've ever met in my life.
This is about Sinbad.
Yes, you read it right folks. Not the swashbuckling dude who fought poorly animated skeleton dudes on some crag somewhere. The comedian. Best known for his awesome portrayal as the dude being made fun of by a chap yelling "Sinbad, you don't have to be loud to be funny!" in his face. The cornerstone of fail comedy, Sinbad was always around to disappoint. Whether it be spin-offs of shows that were shitty in the first place, or a blockbuster smash like Jingle All the Way. What I'm getting at here, is this dude wasn't funny. Ever.
Until I saw him perform live, in person, at Woodwind and Brasswind. By perform I mean shop around and yell random retarded crap out loud. He went on about how expensive a mixer was for literally ten minutes. He used the word retard about seven times while doing so. Motherfucker was pulling out character voices while complaining about the prices. Shit had me rolling on the floor. He was doing what everyone else does, but...it's fucking Sinbad. He's talking shit about the price of a mixer (I have no idea what he needed it for), but he's doing it in an old grandma's voice talking about that fictional grandma's retarded nephew not being stupid enough to buy it. It was gold.
But there is always platinum. The whole while that this fucker is going off, he has an entourage. By entourage, I mean one dude. One dude in blues brothers glasses that are ten times too small for his head. And he's not laughing. Everyone there is either politely laughing, actually laughing at his jokes or just laughing at the situation (me). This dude, clearly security, has heard it all before. He knows how Sinbad gets when something's too expensive. Either that, or he's a highly trained professional like them fellas at Buckingham palace. That was platinum.
But there is always Vespene. The kicker to all of this, the most important fact to remember is that Sinbad was wearing Zubaz. And not Zubaz in the cool, "It's 1990 and they have the same colors as my favorite random sports team." kind of way. More of the "It's 2000, and back in the early 90s the Charlotte Hornets were popular and I haven't gotten the note on not to buy these pants anymore yet." kind of way. It was seriously like there was an error in the time-space contiuum around his pantaloon area. Everything else was ok. Nice shirt. Good haircut. Clean shave. Signs of aging. But BLAM. Zubaz.
I really don't get what is wrong with people. Not Sinbad. Bless him for keeping it real. What's wrong with people who don't like that story?
Also, a slight note. If you look up Zubaz on Wikipedia, you get to see a great pic of Zubaz "enthusiasts".
I used to work at Woodwind and Brasswind when it was a big deal. When it still was the biggest music store in the world and just opened and people were stoked about it. We would get famous musicians in by the busload. Tour bus load, I guess. Wakka Wakka. Most I don't care about. Faith Hill, yawn. Joe Satriani, go buy your outdated effects pedals somewhere else, homo. Steve Vai, Satriani is waiting for you in the over-doing it department. The only band I met there that I actually liked was At the Drive-in, when they were still At the Drive-in and not whatever dismembered Frankenstein Mars Volta Sparta monster they are now. Regardless, this isn't about them. This is about the greatest celebrity I've ever met in my life.
This is about Sinbad.
Yes, you read it right folks. Not the swashbuckling dude who fought poorly animated skeleton dudes on some crag somewhere. The comedian. Best known for his awesome portrayal as the dude being made fun of by a chap yelling "Sinbad, you don't have to be loud to be funny!" in his face. The cornerstone of fail comedy, Sinbad was always around to disappoint. Whether it be spin-offs of shows that were shitty in the first place, or a blockbuster smash like Jingle All the Way. What I'm getting at here, is this dude wasn't funny. Ever.
Until I saw him perform live, in person, at Woodwind and Brasswind. By perform I mean shop around and yell random retarded crap out loud. He went on about how expensive a mixer was for literally ten minutes. He used the word retard about seven times while doing so. Motherfucker was pulling out character voices while complaining about the prices. Shit had me rolling on the floor. He was doing what everyone else does, but...it's fucking Sinbad. He's talking shit about the price of a mixer (I have no idea what he needed it for), but he's doing it in an old grandma's voice talking about that fictional grandma's retarded nephew not being stupid enough to buy it. It was gold.
But there is always platinum. The whole while that this fucker is going off, he has an entourage. By entourage, I mean one dude. One dude in blues brothers glasses that are ten times too small for his head. And he's not laughing. Everyone there is either politely laughing, actually laughing at his jokes or just laughing at the situation (me). This dude, clearly security, has heard it all before. He knows how Sinbad gets when something's too expensive. Either that, or he's a highly trained professional like them fellas at Buckingham palace. That was platinum.
But there is always Vespene. The kicker to all of this, the most important fact to remember is that Sinbad was wearing Zubaz. And not Zubaz in the cool, "It's 1990 and they have the same colors as my favorite random sports team." kind of way. More of the "It's 2000, and back in the early 90s the Charlotte Hornets were popular and I haven't gotten the note on not to buy these pants anymore yet." kind of way. It was seriously like there was an error in the time-space contiuum around his pantaloon area. Everything else was ok. Nice shirt. Good haircut. Clean shave. Signs of aging. But BLAM. Zubaz.
I really don't get what is wrong with people. Not Sinbad. Bless him for keeping it real. What's wrong with people who don't like that story?
Also, a slight note. If you look up Zubaz on Wikipedia, you get to see a great pic of Zubaz "enthusiasts".