I TOUCHED A FUCKING GOD!
GUYS!
GUYS!
LADIES AND GERMS!
BOILS AND GHOULS!
Whoever the hell you are, ye that are up at 3 in the morning on a Sunday night.
I TOUCHED IGGY POP!
How, Nice Lady, does one touch Iggy Pop?
By being...
FRONT ROW
FUCKING CENTER
in a crowd of a thousands at Riot Fest in Humboldt Park. See look, you buy one of these:
And then you find at least one friend (YO! REDBEARD! HOTT KARL! THAT'S YOU!)...ahem...uh. Hmm. Perhaps named Redbeard? A ticket and a friend named Redbeard and then you and Redbeard tangle your way through the crowd (because you didn't line up early for Iggy because yer sure as apples rot and Walken's hot, ain't gonna miss Gogol Bordello right before him). You get as far as you can weasel your way without being a total baggadicks...and that's pretty fucking close, BUT NOT CLOSE ENOUGH...and you bide your time.
I'm tellin' ya, sailors, BIDE YOUR TIME! Because the music is gonna come on and than POW! POW! POW! RUN!
Run like the fucking wind. Catch people off guard. HOTSTEP IT! Here is where you bless people as you pass them so hopefully they're not mad at you as the crowd presses forward. Make sure your RedBeard has ahold of your shirt and that he's following close BUT SLIP AND WIGGLE THROUGH THE FUCKING CROWD...and if yer good...if yer magic.. YOU WILL BE FRONT ROW FUCKING CENTER and then when Iggy Pop eventually stage dives, he'll be right next to you, but when he dances all up in front of the barriers, he'll be DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF YOU.
And here, dear friends, is where my left hand (NOW BRONZED!) reached out and WHAPAPAPOW! touched a god. A fucking living goddamn legend. Fingertips to fingertips. The dude is 65 years old. SIXTY FIVE and he KICKED THE SHIT out of that stage. And yes, my life is more complete having seen him.
I don't even...
I can't even...
I...
I'm just saying when he crawled on all fours and writhed about and took off his belt and whipped the stage to "I Wanna Be Your Dog". Um. Palpitations. My heart dropped below my belt and the floodgates opened.
And he played "Passenger" and every other fucking song you could think of and want and then a few more.
My head...it's gone. I got nothing left.
Because after that. AFTER THAT! Me and Redbeard went to Cobra Lounge for an after party. What? YES! What could make me go to an after party on a work night?
FUCKING FISHBONE.
Goddamn revolutionaries, that's who. Fishbone in a venue barely bigger than my coach house? YES. YES. AND YES.
I gotta be careful here. I was supposed to be coming down. I need to sleep. I need to sleep before work at least a little bit and writing this out was supposed to help, but it's just reving me up again.
FISHBONE.
Front. Center. Yes.
That joint was jumpin.
OK! So I was gonna add a few badass pictures and videos to this...but my interwebs is dying. I, also, am going to fall over. Faceplant, straight into my bed.
I LOVE YOU ALL!
Especially the you all that is Iggy Pop and the Stooges and Fishbone.
Check it, I got this cool shirt:
Oh wait. You can't see it. BECAUSE MY INTERNET SUCKS or LJ SUCKS, whatever sucks it's not letting me upload pictures.
Tomorrow, my beauties, tomorrow.
xoxoxo