In Which Jack Once Again Contradicts His Own Beliefs

I know none of you probably care, but I'm going to post this anyway. This kind of post would have been allowed before I had any readers, but now that all of you hold a certain ideal of what a cranky old piss-dealer like me is and is not supposed to blog about, this may not be allowed. But fuck it. I don't care. I was chastised before for selling out with this post, so what the hell? If I've already sold out, I have every right to post a stupid story about what I did last night that no one but me will find interesting. Besides, I've done post-concert posts before, so whatever. I had no idea I would ever have a fan base, so I never thought I'd have to avoid alienating them. But away I go, so prepare to be alienated!

Last night I went to go see Le Tigre with The Gossip and Measles, Mumps and Rubella. Measles, Mups and Rubella were mediocre, which is a vast improvement from most others I've seen lately. The Gossip rocked, as usual. Le Tigre were insanely awesome, and I really wish there had been more room to dance, but the place was packed. I'm sure those around me got quite a few uninvited elbows to the tit and smashed feet, but whatever. Kathleen Hannah invited this one guy onstage during Deceptacon because she liked his dancing. That so could've been me had I been in the front. Damn. He got a backstage pass and everything. I'm a better dancer too. Bah. I was really hoping to meet them backstage or on the bus or whatever or at least get their autograph. I started a pretty measly autograph book when I went to see Mouse On Mars. I arrived very early to find their tour bus parked outside, so I ran 6 blocks away to a grocery store to buy a small notebook and felt tip pen for them to sign. I chatted with Jan St. Werner about the tour and how much they rocked and such, and came away with a quite interesting autograph. So after Le Tigre, the group I was with waited outside for some time, but gave up after a while. It was starting to get chilly.

At the Vic, cameras are not allowed. Not knowing this, I brought a disposable camera with me. They searched me and found it and told me I couldn't bring it in with me. So I stuck it in the alley to retrieve after the show. After returning home from the show, I realized I left it there. My friend Meghan and I went back to go get it, only to find a fire truck parked in front of the venue. We went around to the alley and saw an ambulence with a stretcher prepared, conveniently parked at the exact spot that my camera was located. Rather than walking right past the ambulence, we decided to go around the block. We snatched the camera and walked around the ambulence, asking the people there what happened. "Accident," was their reply. This didn't really clear things up for us that much, so we decided to stick around for a tad. This one guy kept running back and forth from the tour bus to the alley; we thought he might be the manager. After the ambulence left, we checked the alley to see what was up. And standing there was Johanna from Le Tigre! I was very excited. I asked for her autograph and asked to get a picture. Meghan said she would take the picture of the two of us, and immedietly handed the camera to someone else to get a shot of all three of us. I'll try to get the picture on here after I get it developed. She was very nice, but she had this kind of at-a-funeral face of trying to keep a strong front for the fans, but she was obviously distraught about something. We heard later that the other band members followed shortly after, so they're all ok. JD was apparently in a huff, so I'm kind of glad we didn't see her and Kathleen so as not to anger them. My theory is something happened to the kid backstage. The typical theory is people ODing, but Le Tigre definantly don't seem like the type to hard drugs after a show. I didn't want to ask because I didn't want to upset things, but Johanna was very nice through the whole thing, whatever it was. She rocks.

We walked off, congragulating her on a great show, and smoothly walked back to the train. A soon as we turned to corner, we both instinctively jumped up and down and danced in glee. We get up to the train, still ecstatic, and Meghan tells me "Don't you dare lose that camera!" I said "Don't worry," and like clockwork, it flies out of my pocket and into the train tracks. I could almost invision it happening in slow motion. I swear, there is some mystical script writer in the sky who thinks he's clever and likes to fuck with my life because that was too perfect to just happen. After several "oh fuck"'s I descend to the lower level and try to talk to the person at the desk to let me through. As luck and a vengeful God would have it, there was no one there, requiring me to squeeze underneath the stairs to get into the gated-off area in which it fell. The space is just small enough to not allow for anyone with hips, especially my perfectly sculpted child-bearing hips, to get through. We were told by these other train patrons that the gate is easy enough to climb, as long as you put a jacket or something over the barbed wire. I go to the gate and realize the jacket isn't even necessary: There is a roof to a small shack right next to the gate that can easily be climbed onto and the barbed wire simply hopped over. As I begin to do this, these other train patrons inform me that the lady is back at the desk. Not wanting to get caught climbing over the gate (but man, did I ever want to), I ask the person at the desk for assistance. She lets me into the gated area, I retrieve the camera, and put it in Meghans purse to make damn sure fate didn't fuck with me again.

Those who don't know or care about Le Tigre aren't going to give nearly the fuck that I do about this whole story, but for me it was an awesome ordeal. So fuck all y'all. This is my blog and I can write whatever the fuck I want.

Yes, saying this may be viewed as hypocritical because I often chastise others for what they write in their blogs. But see, I spell things correctly. And even when a subject I write about is trite, I at least attempt to add flare and fizz to make it seem less trite. And they have the right to write about whatever they want too, I simply have the inverse right to talk shit about them for it. Plus, I rock and everyone else sucks so the rules don't apply.