Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
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M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
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Wednesday, June 18, 2003 Rock & Roll Will Never Die, but the Grass Might I am old. This is how I know: A local radio station is holding a contest called “Ultimate Backyard Barbecue” or “Extreme Summer Picnic” or “Rock & Roll Garden Party” or something like that. The randomly chosen winner gets a party thrown in his or her backyard, with live entertainment by local music legend Martin Zellar, formerly of the fabulous Gear Daddies. They’ll also provide Subway™ sandwiches and Sierra Mist™ for 105 guests, presumably so they can lose ludicrous amounts of weight and participate in an incoherent branding strategy. So I’m thinking, damn, that sounds pretty cool. I mean, I dig Martin Zellar, and it’s been years since we had a huge blowout at our place, and maybe Krakathoom could even open for Marty and the guys. And then I think, “Oh, man, that’s going to kill my new grass.” Really, any way we arrange it is going to be detrimental to the rich, lush lawn I’ve reanimated this summer. If they lay a stage out on the grass, it’ll crush it beyond repair. But if the band plays on the driveway instead, 210 feet are going to trample my lovingly resurrected blades into a nutrient paste. It’s a dilemma. Then I thought that maybe they’d use a stage that’s raised up on four to eight short pillars, which would minimize the area that would be directly crushed by the weight. I could repair those little spots, I’m sure. I’d just have to make sure the musicians didn’t jump around too much on the stage and sink them into the turf. Then the only hard part would be keeping the audience on the driveway and the patio. Although, depending on the size of the stage, there might not be room for them on the grass, so the whole issue might be moot. And then I realized, wow, this whole line of thought is so not Rock & Roll. And then I think back to when we first bought the house way back in our early twenties, and we threw a Halloween party in which the whole premises were covered in fake spiderwebs, the basement was ankle-deep in beer, the cigarette smoke had to be cut into cubes so we could carry it outside, and we created “ambience” by setting fire to the living-room carpet. And now I can’t even envision a rock band in my back yard without also picturing fussy little rope railings and “keep off the grass” signs. Trash and I heard the commercial for the contest in the car on the way to work today, and I broke the news to her that she now was married to an old man, and how I had come to that conclusion. “Actually,” she confessed, “I was thinking that at least we wouldn’t have to be embarrassed about our back yard when people come over this year.” No, indeed. We got plenty of other stuff to be embarrassed about. posted by M. Giant 3:26 PM 0 comments 0 Comments:
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