So, there was another Big American Holiday over the weekend, dontchaknow. Which means there were at least 72 hours free from work to kill time by crossing sloth and gluttony and a few of the other 7 deadlies off my List of Things To Do.
Yes, I basically spent most of my holiday answering the question: can woman survive off guacamole and margaritas alone?
The answer is: No. No, she cannot.
That is, unless your friends are comfortable with a lot of inappropriate touching and embarrassing impromptu public displays of air guitar as a Social Experiment as to How Not to Spend Your Holiday Weekend - no she cannot.
Everything I do, I do for you, diaryland.
Which brings me to my next topic: after my weekend’s Margarita Meltdown, I totally need to find another, less deadly, summer beverage of choice.
I am thinking Sloe Gin Fizz.
Never had a Sloe Gin Fizz but gosh-darn, it sounds like a bounty of non-tequila-ridden-summer-goodness after listening to Loretta Lynn and her lovely album Van Lear Rose album about another million times on repeat this summer.
What say you, diaryland?
At any rate, besides lots of swimming and reading beachside (under a comfy shady beach umbrella, thank you tax dollars!) there was also one of those wacky “outdoor” festivals to attend this weekend.
You know, one of those things where they set up the booths of deadly foods and shitty games and give away shitty prizes and bring in shitty bands from the past for the elderly such as myself to enjoy?
Yes, one of those.
And I will get to the live music part in a minute but first I must talk about the degeneration of The Carnival, in general.
That is to say, I am here to tell you: The Carnies aren’t even fronting anymore.
The glory days of the Pink Feathered ‘Hair Clip’ (read: roach clip, you know, the little metal joint clip all decorated with pink flashy feathers so your parents wouldn’t know you were sporting drug paraphernalia on your person) are OVER.
The newest evolution in “street” items co-opted as a Carnie Prize?
That is to say, there were about a million teens and pre-teens running around the Carnie Fairway with big-ass-faux-leopard-skinned-pink-feather-adorned-big-ass Pimp Hats.
Looks like Jay Z wasn’t kidding. Big Pimpin’ is everyone’s business and no one loves it more than, oooohhh, ever single kid living in the suburbs.
I am not sure why I am so surprised but umm, makes me a little wistful for the days when the tacky-ass Motley Crüe mirror was a big-fucking-skee-ball-prize, ya know?
And oh, I was going to get into the music part of it all, but after writing all of this I really do realize how curmudgeon this all makes me sound, especially since I will say the band my friends wanted to see – the band I wanted to see: Urge Overkill.
A band from Chicago that was moderately successful back in the early 90’s. A band I liked a lot back then. A band who released an album called “Saturation” that would have done a lot better and maybe made a lot more famous back in 1993 had a lady named Liz Phair not released another little album called “Exile in Guyville” that very same summer.
And I don’t begrudge either band/artist their success only, that summer everyone in Chicago kind of expected UO to blow up. Then comes Liz singing about getting wet between her legs and fuck and run and such and so everyone kind of forgot about Urge Overkill.
So, Liz stole all their thunder that year, but Urge Overkill managed to keep the moxie up, taking photos while driving around in vintage convertibles, posing in Mod furniture, singing about Erica Kane and keeping their hip-than-thou attitude up in general.
I liked ‘em anyway. Still do.
So they played this little dumb festival last weekend and they were great, and really not-rock-starry at all. Lead singer Nash Kato - who was known for being a little bratty back in the day - was a very nice Rock Star in the present as he played for the sparse suburban crowd and even though the sound was totally shitty, they all played their hearts out.
Which was funny in another way, because if Nash Kato and Urge Overkill thought Liz Phair was a problem back in 1993, forgetabout it. This weekend they were up against The Nuge. That is to say, at the very same time UO was on, they were up against Ted Nugent and his Cat-Scratch-Fever-Legacy on the festivals’ Main Stage.
So in the end, UO played balls-out in spite The Nuge and everything else. Which was nice.
And I had a really good time and everything but really in the end it wound up being weirdly nostalgic and all which really freaked me out because at one point I was thinking, “Whoa, isn’t this how your parents are supposed to feel when they see, like, The Beach Boys playing Summer Fest or something?”
So, that feeling?
That was a little bit bad.
But what was worse, the crowd was so small I managed to find a place right up front and the sound was really, really loud and even though the show was like, DAYS ago, I am still hearing the hissing of tinnitus ringing in my ears, and I tell ya – after all the rock shows I have seen in my life – if my hearing goes down after attending suburban festival – I am going to be flat-out-pissed-off.
That is that for me for now. Hope you are well, and stay away from that Cat Scratch Fever, or something, okay?