Hot Chix Pool Party
July 11, 2000
"But it's ween. Ween!"
"But it's ween. Ween!"
And I'm almost, kind of excited, because you know, it's Ween.
So, even though I never go to shows, I agree to go to this Ween show, because you know, it's Ween, and this summer I'm trying to be less of an angry, bitter old man. I'm 20, I can go to a show and enjoy myself. Really, of course I can, it's not like I'm Bryan Boyer or something.
So Ben, Bryan and I go to Stubb's, a great little barbecue joint where the ween show is going to be, to get the tickets on Friday.
"Yes, I'd like a vast quantity of fatty, heart-attack inducing pork ribs. Also, a ticket to ween tomorrow."
And so the ticket is sixteen bucks, but that's ok. I mean, that's almost reasonable. But then they tacked on a $3.50 "service charge." I mean, I'm fucking ordering my ticket from the same person I order my ribs from. What possible "service" are they providing? Giving me greasy pork death with my ticket? I get that every Friday anyway without the service charge.
Yes, actually, I'd like a ticket to ween, hold the service. Whatever service you are providing, I don't want it, thank you very much. But it doesn't work that way. Oh no, always the man, holding me down...
This isn't even the all-evil ticketmaster's fault... this is some pseudo-ticketmaster wannabe. Ok, so it's costing 20 bucks. Whatever. Not a big deal.
So Ben and I head back to Stubb's on Saturday, and I'm doing my best to not hate everybody and everything and just enjoy myself, because, you know, it's ween.
Ben asks the drugged-out guy in the Alister Crowley shirt and black stockings, "Hey man, are you ok?" because, he really, really looks so completely fucked up that he's going to fall over, and you know Ben, always willing to help a stranger in stockings.
He just sort of floats there and semi-smiles back, his friends holding him up. One of them says he's ok. Another of the posse hugs him and says "He's my hero."
"He's my hero too man. I don't think I've ever seen anyone that fucked up still standing," ben replies.
And I know I haven't, but I'm a big dork, so that doesn't mean much
So Ben is making new friends. Wonderful new friends who within five minutes are offering him free drugs that I've never even heard of. And it seems that to me that maybe they just want to be his drug dealers and not his friends, but whatever. Details, details.
And then the crowd screams at something stupid even though the band isn't on stage. I of course can't see it because I'm short, but it doesn't matter. All I know is that it's stupid and that, already, even though the band isn't on stage and I've only been here 15 minutes, I hate everyone here. They all suck.
I look to the side and there are a bunch of assholes sitting on a little balcony-ish thing above the crowd. I fucking hate those assholes.
I need to be one of those assholes. I don't think I can enjoy a show being surrounded by a mass of smelly, annoying people that I hate.
I need to be high above the crowd, sitting at a table, sipping a drink, laughing at all the people below. "Ha ha" I will say, as I sip my frozen margarita and the stinky, sweaty, hot massive fleshy crowd gyrates below me, "it is nice up here, but you jerkys are down there."
But no, I'm down in the trenches, with the stinky crowd. I hate people.
Ben takes a little gelcap that has just been filled with some mysterious liquid from his new pals. Then another. He's happy and loves everyone and everything and is enjoying it all...
I of course still hate everyone.
But, wait, then there's ween! I mean, it's ween!
Yeah, anyway, so ween is good, blah blah, she drives me crazy with that boogie oogie oogie oogie, yadda yadda... cut to the end of the show, ween is playing some 45 minute extended version of some song. I'm not really sure what song it is, it doesn't matter, nobody really cares because some girl is on stage taking off her clothes... and we all know nothing goes with music better than naked boobies.
Not that I would know, because of course as soon as there's naked boobies on stage, millions of people crowd in front of me and I can't see anything. Meanwhile, there's hot lesbian action going on stage, and all I can see is the back of some asshole's head. And it's not like it's some entertaining head. Nope, just some ugly asshole's head.
Ok, so that's the real reason I need to be one of those VIP assholes sitting above everyone, because I'm short. Are you happy, now? I'm short. I'm five four. I'm really fucking short.
And I remembered why I haven't been to a concert in like five years: I hate people. But also, because I'm short. And I haven't gotten any taller since I was a little 15-year-old angry, bitter, old man.
So, Ween was good, but even Ben agreed it was not worth $19.50. Of course, it was Ween...
Actually, I hate concerts and I can't enjoy them and I could've gotten like two cd's for the price of that ticket and yes, ok, I'm a bitter, angry old man at 20, and I can't enjoy anything out of life even though I'm young and should.
So I go to sleep, angry, defeated, and a bitter old man. Now it is Sunday, and it is very, very hot. And there is only one thing to do when it is hot...
HOTT CHIX POOL PARTY!!!!!
So, there is me, and Bryan, and Ben, and three little 12" baby pools, and water. And HOTT CHIX!!!
Ok, so there weren't any hott chix. But there is some french guy singing to us. Yves Montand.
Bryan hasn't slept in days. He alternates between flopping around on his belly in his dolphin mating ritual and demonstrating his quite impressive tidal wave creation powers. Bryan manages to fill and subsequently lose about eight tub-fulls of water.
And this, this is the life. Inflatable baby pools, Yves, and hot, hott chix. Oh wait, there aren't any hot chix, even though Ben screamed "HOT CHIX POOL PARTY!!!" at every car we passed on the way back from Target. Maybe they didn't hear him or something, because if they did and decided not to come, boy oh boy are they missing out on some hott hott chix pool party action.
"FEEL THE AWESOME POWER OF MY TIDAL WAVE!" Bryan exclaims as he splashes around in his little pool.
And Ben is videotaping Bryan's dolphin mating rituals, and I look like a shaggy wet dog, but it's ok. Better than ok. This is great. Because we're young, and it's summer, and this is fun, and I'm enjoying it, and for a few minutes I forget that I'm a bitter, angry old man.
copyright 2000 adam mathes