December 20, 2005

750 South State, Part Two: Where Alicia Silverstone's Evil Twin Makes an Appearance

Yesterday, I received no fewer than two Christmas letters written by cats. Two. Just had to share. Now on to the real post.

So let me explain about the band's name. It's an address found in many cities, including Chicago. But if you live in Elgin, you're probably going, "Hmmm... why does that address sound familiar...?" Because it's where your Mom went to dry out after her most recent "episode." It's the Elgin Insane Asylum. Well, they probably stopped calling it that when they stopped nailing the inmates' genitals to the floor, but you know what I mean.

Now, the "stage" area for the band was not exactly ideal. I mean, I couldn't even SEE Wayne the Keyboard Guy and... was his name Chris? The drummer? Rolling Stone Magazine is driving a dumptruck full of money up to my house right now, begging me to come write for them.

On the "stage" with the band (and yes, I'm making little quote signs in the air when I say stage because, seriously, the owners couldn't find a better set-up?), was some sort of party. Complete with party favors, cake and Grandma. I shit you not. Grandma was six feet away from a speaker. What kind of ape brings their Grandma to some noisy, smokey bar?!

I really, really wanted to hate the guest of honor. First of all, she was homely. Second of all, she had dark brown hair with three -- count 'em, three -- platinum blond streaks in her hair. It was so fugly, like the mom at the end of "Poltergeist," only not hot. Third of all, did I mention that she brought her Grandma to a bar? Cuz she totally did. But I just couldn't hate her because she had a Power Puff Girls bag. You see my dilemma.

Also on the "stage" was the handicapped -- sorry, "differently abled" -- bathroom. I guess they had no where else to put it, so they just built a little closet on the stage and put a Harp sign and a creepy animatronic Santa on top of it. Very weird. And very awkward going to pee because you had to cross in front of the band and everyone knew you had to pee. Which is why I waited until breaks. So only half the bar knew I had to pee.

Unlike the regular barsluts. They would just flounce across the stage, holding hands with their girlfriends, and both go in the bathroom at once. I can only assume they were going to have hot lesbian sex, and isn't that the best testimonial I can give 750 South State? If you can subliminally convince girls to act out your fantasies in the bathroom, then you are a damn good band.

But I'm still obsessing over the party. Why in a bar? Why on a stage? Why the Congratulations, Graduate! paraphenalia? Who graduates in the middle of December? Beauty school? Clown college? DeVry?

Oh, get over it, Wenchie. You will never understand these people and their strange ways.

I suppose I should name a couple songs the band played, huh? Well, I easily recognized most of them. Like "Higher Ground" a la Red Hot Chili Peppers. And they sang "Mr. Brightside" waaaaaay better than those damn kids in the V-Show. And... dammit. I recognized more songs than that, but hell if I actually know the names. Oh, they did a couple songs by Bare Naked Ladies, which made me squeal with delight! Don't ask me which ones, tho'.

Let's see, what else did they do well...? They encouraged audience participation, which is always good, as long as the audience can't be heard over the band. They sang three-part harmony! Granted, it's not jump-over-the-shark-tank-on-your-unicycle hard, but I've done it, and it does take some effort. I think all six of them sang, at one point or another. Which is exactly how The Beatles worked, so I don't think I'm outta bounds when I say they are going to take the world by storm within the next three months. Mark my words. You heard it here first. Rocketed to stardom by the Pirate Wench.

And whilst they sang, it occurred to me, "Hey. I could do that. I wonder if they need a chick singer? I don't even have to sing lead. I could just be their doo-wop girl. I've always wanted to be a doo-wop girl... in a cage... wearing white pleather boots... and some fringe..."

I'm sorry -- what was I talking about? Oh yeah -- me as chick singer. I can also play tambourine, and maracas, and finger cymbals, and bottles. Call me, guys!

And just as my dreams of riding their coattails to fame and fortune were about to be realized (as far as you know), they were dashed by Katie. Adorable Katie. Little, cute, young, sexy Katie, with her perky hair and even perkier ass. She was like a photo negative of Alicia Silverstone circa "Clueless." How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?!

Well, Kutie Katie sang with the band and ruined my evening with her mere existance, so Laura and I left after the second set. And according to widespread reports,...

WE MISSED A CATFIGHT CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT?!!!

Allegedly, the two barsluts who were standing in front of us all night and holding their cigarettes, like, inches from our faces and my immaculate, vanilla-scented hair, got into it right in front of the stage. And according to reports, they got beer on some of Nick's guitar stuff and snapped some cables.

AND WE MISSED IT!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Can you imagine?! We would have had front row seats! I even had my camera at the ready! It would have provided blog-fodder for WEEKS!

Frankly, I blame Katie for making me miss it.

Posted on December 20, 2005 02:12 PM

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Posted by: Randy at December 21, 2005 02:44 PM

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