8.11.2005

[Beware] Cleavage and FunYuns

I'm checking in with a blog as PSA here. I was recently dragooned into attending a concert by my erstwhile pal and workout partner. I'd never heard of said artiste, but he was at an allegedly fun bar and my weight-lifting friend raved about him...why not? Take note. I ignored several warning signs in the build-up to this evening:

  • I never really liked O'Gara's; they made too much of a little connection to Schultz
  • my Catholic gym buddy has on several previous occasions exhibited a propensity to be (enjoyably) shocked and embarrassed by apparently innocuous stimuli
  • aforementioned buddy cannot talk about previous concerts without giggling and blushing
  • the bad Charlie Daniels covers of the opener really should have sent me running

Nonetheless, there I was in a joint which has somehow evaded the St Paul smoking ban, paying my eight dollars (Eight! I pay only a little more than that to see real music!) and congratulating myself on being a good friend. I was surprised by the audience at first. We were (naturally) early, and surrounded by skanks in tanks (tops) and their leeringly insecure boyfriends. There was an equal number of pleathery-skinned couples in their 40's, or maybe 70's, it was hard to tell. Two voluminous hawaiian-shirted gentlemen I immediately pegged as D&Ders (cf. company I keep) seemed to be in charge. I was later informed they were roadies. And gamers. There were also two honest-to-god goth chicks, one of whom was picked up by the roadies after the third song.

Had this been the audience, I would have been happier about our crowd placement in the "dance area." Unfortunately, we were soon rushed by single, drunken 30-something men. My hopes this was a gay crowd were soon quashed.

At last, the main event. Pat McCurdy took the stage and immediately began singing..."Mama needs Funyuns" and calling for women to come up front. We were informed his favorite things were cleavage and funyuns, and things went downhill from there. As he proceeded with silly/obscence limerick-like songs, I struggled to keep from gaping in horror at the realization that I had paid this jackass eight bucks for being a dirty old man. The skanks were actually removing their clothing for him in exchange for free t-shirts or the opportunity to dance onstage. That's another thing: the dancing. I am a poor but enthusiastic dancer-yet I had to close my eyes to escape the dance carnage around me. Half the songs have actual motions (think macarena) and the other half evidently require some flailing. Two bright spots of the evening: first, the song dedicated to pissing off republicans had a lovely satirical ending lost on most of crowd; second, Pat blissfully stopped singing frequently to play clips of popular music. Although the music of the eighties promoted altogether too much excitement in the dance area for my taste, the sing-alongs to Abba were fun.

My ass sore from being grabbed, choking on cigarette smoke and squinting to see through the crowd, I happily escaped at half-time. Apparently the really funny songs were in the second half; I'll take my friend's word for it.

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