Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Monday, September 23, 2002 I'm just going to start out today by saying that my wife is really, really lucky that John Entwistle is dead.
Now I'm going to back up.
As I've mentioned previously in this space, the last few weeks of summer saw American Idol fever invade our home like the foul contagion that it is. And it's a good thing that show ended when it did, because things were starting to get out of hand. Trash was showing everyone that clip of Anakin Boogie (we've decided that our favorite part is that liquidy snorfle that he uses to signal that he's done), and even our friends Dirt and Banana were sucked in.
As a few of you will admit to knowing, there's actually an American Idol concert tour on the road. All of the finalists from the show will be on the bill. Not only Kelly, Sideshow Bob, and Nikki, but also Tamyra, Christina, Ejay, R.J., A.J., D.J., P.J., Q.J., X.J., I.J., and that chick named Ryan will be there in person. You can bet I would be all over this if the tour ever came to the Twin Cities. That kind of mocking opportunity doesn't come along every day. That's probably why Trash refused to invite me.
There was talk about camping out for tickets or wearing out the phone's redial button on the on-sale date, but we're not in our twenties any more. Now one of us works for a corporation that owns a hospitality suite at the local concert hall. And really, nothing says "rock & roll" like a corporate hospitality suite. Right?
This meant that last week, Trash had to send one of her coworkers to the meeting in the downtown office where the tickets for the arena's various events are doled out. While people were furiously bidding and negotiating for the use of the suite during various hockey games, concerts, and other respectable events, Trash's coworker had to pipe up with, "Trash wants to use the suite for the American Idol concert."
Trash had been somewhat concerend that someone else might have dibs on the suite for that show. She needn't have worried. When Trash's coworker put in that bid, she might has well have placed a turd on the conference table.
Given the amount of respect that Trash's intelligence and abilities command at her workplace, there were several minutes of the meeting that were occupied by confirming that her coworker was actually talking about the right person. "Does she want the tickets for her child?" asked one attendee, presumably unaware that we don't have one. Or, more likely, fully aware that we don't have one, but eager to give Trash an out.
So Trash and Banana are going to the American Idol concert when it comes to St. Paul in November. Maybe I'll get them to write me a guest entry about it.
Today, I was talking on the phone to Trash and she mentioned how other coworkers were making fun of her AI jones. One of them had said, "Now, you're sure you wanted to see American Idol and not the Who, right?"
Anyone who's been reading this blog since July 1 is well aware of how I feel about the Who, and is therefore well aware that I wasn't about to let this pass.
"Excuse me?" I snapped when Trash let that comment slip. "You guys have the suite for the Who concert? And you didn't tell me? And you got tickets for American Idol instead?" But it was really more out of habit than anything else.
Since John Entwistle died (and hey, what's with all the recently-dead bass legends hogging the cover of Bass Player magazine this past year? I'm starting to think it would be safer to play underwater synthesizer), I don't have a lot of interest in paying good money to see the "Who's Left" tour. I might see it for free, though. As it turns out, the suite is already spoken for the night Roger and Pete are playing. So that decision is out of my hands.
Which I'm actually okay with. On the night Trash goes to hear Kelly Clarkson belt out a few, I'll be dropping my Thirty Years of Maximum R&B box set into the CD changer and see how many bass strings I can break before she gets home. Call it a tribute.
But if I were missing the chance to see three-quarters of the Who so Trash could sit through N.J., ¨¡.J., and ¥ð.J., I would have wheeled out the Big Guns of Guilt and opened fire.
See how I brought that back around to my lede? I don't know why you don't trust me more. posted by M. Giant 3:17 PM 0 comments