Yesterday I was in a record store - because I'm old and still buy music in the CD format - when a CD by the indie rock band The Fucking Champs reminded me of a brief incident from way back when.
About 11 years ago I went to see a band at this venue named Artswatch, which was pronounced "arts watch" but which I called "art swatch" because it pissed off people who took themselves way too seriously. Artswatch was a tiny place that was usually filled to twice its legal capacity. Climate control-wise, it was serviced by an air conditioner the size of a lunchbox that I'm fairly sure spit out, in lieu of cold air, molten lava.
I was standing around before the show started, drinking water because the 'swatch didn't have a liquor license, when this guy said to me, "Man, that was a great show you guys played the other night."
Before I could tell him there was no show, he said to his friend, "This guy is in that band I saw last week, The Fucking Champs."
At the time I had heard of The Fucking Champs, mainly because I enjoyed their name, but rest assured I had never seen them perform, let alone join them onstage. I tried to explain: "No, Im not in The Fucking Champs. I'm not in any band."
Then the guy acts like he doesn't believe me, like here I am a member of The Fucking Champs and I think I'm too cool to talk to a fan. Luckily, a shiny object soon caught his attention and he left me alone.
A few days later I was at the record store so I had to see this indie rock bastard who had the poor fortune to look like me. Everyone in the band was of average height and weight. None of those champion fuckers looked a thing like me. Could have been a touring musician, I guess.
And maybe that guy still talks about the summer night at Artswatch when he sweated through his ironic t-shirt and was snubbed by the snobby prick who played backup tamborine for The Fucking Champs.
About 11 years ago I went to see a band at this venue named Artswatch, which was pronounced "arts watch" but which I called "art swatch" because it pissed off people who took themselves way too seriously. Artswatch was a tiny place that was usually filled to twice its legal capacity. Climate control-wise, it was serviced by an air conditioner the size of a lunchbox that I'm fairly sure spit out, in lieu of cold air, molten lava.
I was standing around before the show started, drinking water because the 'swatch didn't have a liquor license, when this guy said to me, "Man, that was a great show you guys played the other night."
Before I could tell him there was no show, he said to his friend, "This guy is in that band I saw last week, The Fucking Champs."
At the time I had heard of The Fucking Champs, mainly because I enjoyed their name, but rest assured I had never seen them perform, let alone join them onstage. I tried to explain: "No, Im not in The Fucking Champs. I'm not in any band."
Then the guy acts like he doesn't believe me, like here I am a member of The Fucking Champs and I think I'm too cool to talk to a fan. Luckily, a shiny object soon caught his attention and he left me alone.
A few days later I was at the record store so I had to see this indie rock bastard who had the poor fortune to look like me. Everyone in the band was of average height and weight. None of those champion fuckers looked a thing like me. Could have been a touring musician, I guess.
And maybe that guy still talks about the summer night at Artswatch when he sweated through his ironic t-shirt and was snubbed by the snobby prick who played backup tamborine for The Fucking Champs.
3 Comments:
Sir, I am very happy to see your return. I had deleted your link but now its back in my link doc. I did, however, do this for entirely selfish reasons: I have written a short piece which, with your assent, I will email to you for your appraisal/derision/ridicule etc. If you are happy to receive the aforementioned, let me know via the comments section of your illustrious website
I am unlikely to show you my tits but, hey, you live a long time ...
Yes, please email this to me and you don't even have to show your tits. Yet. Ha.
Looky here...
Precisely why I had my epiphany: wanna see a perfectly cognizant, fully-spectacular, Son-ripened-Heaven?? … yet, I’m not sure if we're on the same page if you saw what I saw. Greetings, earthling. Because I was an actual NDE on the outskirts of the Great Beyond at 15 yet wasn’t allowed in, lemme share with you what I actually know Seventh-Heaven’s Big-Bang’s gonna be like: meet this advanced, bombastic, ex-mortal Upstairs for the most extra-groovy-paradox, pleasure-beyond-measure, Ultra-Yummy-Reality-Addiction in the Great Beyond for a BIG-ol, kick-ass, party-hardy, robust-N-risqué-passion you DO NOT wanna miss the sink-your-teeth-in-the-smmmokin’-hot-deal. Cya soon…
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