Troubadour One Four

Songwriting, creativity, Gardening.

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Chris Hardwick talks about censorship of women’s bodies and absolutely nails it.

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TV yellow les Paul junior. Mid 1950s. Pricey. 5-10K. But there was a reissue done by Gibson USA you could pickup secondhand cheaply. Or epiphone also did a version.
A (actual vintage) TV-Yellow Gibson?
Nah. Not just the color. I need something with a dark, wood grain pickguard. The whole nine yards.
The Kitsch guitar.. LOL

You should get a yellow Epiphone Les Paul. Period. Stock everything. It you don’t like yellow, get a black one and spray paint it purple.

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Uncomfortable Social Interactions

My wife and I went to a show last night, in Austin, at Emo’s.  We’ve been here for almost a year now, and it was the first time we went to a ticketed show.  It seems odd to have taken so long to go do such a thing.  It’s been an interesting year.  It’s also the first time I’ve had to stand up for that long, after my back surgery.  It was painful, but I survived.

Emo’s is a really nice venue.  No BS.  $4 tall boys.  Parking was a breeze. The sound was a little off, being 4 feet from the stage.  Underneath the stage is nothing but LFDs, or subwoofers.  Insane amount of low end that seriously drowned out the overhead line arrays, especially with earplugs.  Who wears earplugs?  I’ve never seen so many people putting them in their ears!  Smart people, who go to a lot of shows, know what’s up.  That damage can never be undone.

I think seeing a band from Louisiana, drags the Louisianians out, into public to congregate.  I’ve never been to a club or a show in Austin where people were passing out drunk, or acting just plain sloppy -until now. Natives seem to act more civilized.  There was one girl who was standing in front of my wife, who for about 20 minutes, constantly turned around, faced my wife -opposite the stage- raised her arm, jumped up and down, and screamed her lungs out trying to get the attention of her friends.  Sweaty drunk girl armpit in my wife’s face. My wife looked back at me “Figure it out!  Your friends aren’t coming!  Maybe you should go to them?”  This other guy standing next to us was having to hold his, let’s say late 40’s female companion, from falling head first, into the people in front of her.  I thought she was just grinding her ass into his junk at first, or finally having an orgasm, but no, she was just blacking out.  Everyone that was behind them was amazed and very entertained.  I was more concerned with protecting my wife from projectile vomiting.  There are coonasses that can “Laissez les bons temps rouler,” while not letting it all roll out.  [Some people think coonass is an offensive term, it is not.  I’m a coonass.  There, I said it.  My wife bought a sign years ago that we have hanging that states “A crazy coonass lives here with his Texas sweetheart.”]   

Ok, I’m going way off topic here…

For years, I’ve been trying to get hooked up with a setlist, after shows, when the crew is breaking down equipment.  I’m not a cute girl, who flashes his man boobs for stage hands.  I’m a dude with a beard, so it’s difficult.  My wife stood back, and I waited, with about 20 other people, to see if I could snag one.  A -I guess 4.5 feet tall, short- girl comes up next to me and is trying to climb up onto the railing, and I guess sit on top of it.  You know those barricades.  She had a crinkled up dollar in her hand.  I guess to persuade one of the guys to give her what she wanted? 

So here’s my uncomfortable part:  She asked me to help her get up onto the railing.  I said “I can’t.”  She said “What?”  I said, very humbly, “I can’t.”  She then told me that I don’t have to be rude.

I tried to explain that I have 8 screws in my back.  She argued that “Doesn’t have to do with anything,”  as she tried again to get onto the railing.  Right as I was saying “I’m sorry,” again, one of the stage hands came with a setlist, I reached my harm over near the stage.  I didn’t bend, I can’t, it’s physically impossible.  I just stretched my arm out.  This girl starts rubbing my lower back saying “Don’t hurt your back!  I don’t want you to hurt your back!”  I just said “Thank You,” as she went on “Yeah, you have 8 screws.”  I ignored her, and she went away. 

I don’t know what to think, or how to process that interaction.  I just don’t know what to do with it.  I’m sorry.  I can’t lift more than 40 pounds.  Really, it just breaks my heart.  I wasn’t trying to take advantage of the situation.  Everyday is some sort of a struggle.  Never mind the pain of standing for that long. [I would be overwhelmed with joy to help another person.  I caught a guitar pick, and then tried to catch another for the dissapointed, sweet girl, that was next to us.  I made sure that I wasn’t blocking her view.  She caught one on her own though!   My wife and I said “Yayyyy!” and clapped for her!]

Back to the stage.  The guitar tech handed out all of the setlists that were near the front of the stage.  I was the only guy standing there after a few minutes.  The nice security girl asked me to leave.  I told her that “there’s one more setlist underneath the keyboard.”  She kindly told me “A few more minutes.”  I got one of the stage hand’s attention and pointed “See that setlist under the keyboard?”  He nodded and gently peeled it off of the floor, and handed it to me.  I said “Thank you so much!  Take care!”  He nodded.

I told my wife what had happened, as we walked out, about me being rude.  She told me “That was the girl that kept putting her armpit in my face.” 

Let me ask you guys about this…  This pick girl that was next to us, my wife had a few small conversations with her.  She was just so nice.  We don’t have any friends here.  How would you meet someone, at a random place, like a music venue, and not be “LETS BE FRIENDSSSS!” like a weird creep?  And your thoughts about me being a rude bastard?

Filed under ATX Austin Texas social rude mean people back surgery music emo's manners friends dale carnegie