shoot up some herons
Well, let me tell you about this party.
My dad and my unks were invited to play at the Experience Music Project's Founder's Award party: Paul Allen was giving an award to Robbie Robertson for being....for being Robbie Robertson, I guess. They're friends to begin with, so I guess that's how you express friendship when you're uber-rich: you throw a $350 a plate dinner party benefit concert in the strange-ass building you built next to the Space Needle, and invite a bunch of hairy Seattleite musicians to play The Band songs.
So, anyway, I got a backstage pass, of course, and went to hang out with the various musicians and schmoozers in the room for special people that they have way up near the ceiling of this catastrophic symphony of steel they call a building , where you can look down on the stage from 4 floors up. The room, incidentally, was alternately padded with blue velveteen and decorated with mosaics made of those little green, opalescent glass nuggets that you put in the bottom of fish tanks.
Everything went fine until they opened the free bar. I talked with Unks and the other musicians, we watched Revenge of the Nerds on the TV, waiting for the musicians to go on. But then I started drinking. I never drink, and I shouldn't. Alternatively, I should drink more so I get a tolerance. At any rate, I don't drink exactly the right amount.
So I have a glass of wine, and I'm leaning over the balcony talking to Unks' mom (he's my half-unks), when I hear everything in the room go silent. I look over and Paul Allen and Robbie Robertson are standing next to me talking to each other in hushed voices. Then the photographers and the official honors-doers step up and present Robbie with a Fender guitar to sign for the auction, and I step out of range of all the photo-snapping and etc. By then I'd probably had two glasses of wine, and no food.
After that portion of weirdness was over and P.A. and the Rob Rob were going to sit down to talk about whatever it is that people like that talk about, I grabbed Mr. Allen's arm.
"Mishter Allen," I said. "You've had a profound effect on my father's life." I told him my dad's name and that he'd played music with him and gotten a chance to go to all sorts of places with him, and thanked him for that.
"Who?" Paul Allen said.
Later, after Unks and my dad played their set, I'd probably had another glass of wine. I was sitting and talking to Eric Corson and some dude. I get real talkative when I'm drunk. When I'm not drunk, I'm known to go 15 days without saying a word, so the alcohol brings it all out, all those unsaid words. Said other dude was talking about how he was a drummer. "You're a drummer?!!?" I shrieked. "We should play together!" I babbled on and on about this, said I was trying to put together a local band and play some shows. Then said dude mentioned that he'd played lots of shows...as the drummer for The Posies.
D'oh. Mumblestutter acts drunk and stupid, again , around the Seattle musical elite.
My dad and my unks were invited to play at the Experience Music Project's Founder's Award party: Paul Allen was giving an award to Robbie Robertson for being....for being Robbie Robertson, I guess. They're friends to begin with, so I guess that's how you express friendship when you're uber-rich: you throw a $350 a plate dinner party benefit concert in the strange-ass building you built next to the Space Needle, and invite a bunch of hairy Seattleite musicians to play The Band songs.
So, anyway, I got a backstage pass, of course, and went to hang out with the various musicians and schmoozers in the room for special people that they have way up near the ceiling of this catastrophic symphony of steel they call a building , where you can look down on the stage from 4 floors up. The room, incidentally, was alternately padded with blue velveteen and decorated with mosaics made of those little green, opalescent glass nuggets that you put in the bottom of fish tanks.
Everything went fine until they opened the free bar. I talked with Unks and the other musicians, we watched Revenge of the Nerds on the TV, waiting for the musicians to go on. But then I started drinking. I never drink, and I shouldn't. Alternatively, I should drink more so I get a tolerance. At any rate, I don't drink exactly the right amount.
So I have a glass of wine, and I'm leaning over the balcony talking to Unks' mom (he's my half-unks), when I hear everything in the room go silent. I look over and Paul Allen and Robbie Robertson are standing next to me talking to each other in hushed voices. Then the photographers and the official honors-doers step up and present Robbie with a Fender guitar to sign for the auction, and I step out of range of all the photo-snapping and etc. By then I'd probably had two glasses of wine, and no food.
After that portion of weirdness was over and P.A. and the Rob Rob were going to sit down to talk about whatever it is that people like that talk about, I grabbed Mr. Allen's arm.
"Mishter Allen," I said. "You've had a profound effect on my father's life." I told him my dad's name and that he'd played music with him and gotten a chance to go to all sorts of places with him, and thanked him for that.
"Who?" Paul Allen said.
Later, after Unks and my dad played their set, I'd probably had another glass of wine. I was sitting and talking to Eric Corson and some dude. I get real talkative when I'm drunk. When I'm not drunk, I'm known to go 15 days without saying a word, so the alcohol brings it all out, all those unsaid words. Said other dude was talking about how he was a drummer. "You're a drummer?!!?" I shrieked. "We should play together!" I babbled on and on about this, said I was trying to put together a local band and play some shows. Then said dude mentioned that he'd played lots of shows...as the drummer for The Posies.
D'oh. Mumblestutter acts drunk and stupid, again , around the Seattle musical elite.