The Last Boingo Show
Went with Shirelle and Jeff Goldcastle to an American Film Institute Presentation of Buster Keaton clips at the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences theatre on Wilshire in Beverly Hills. Mary Gross (of Saturday Night Live) came behind me to the water fountain. At the same time, the conductor--what's his name? The famous guy who conducts the Oscars-- was there in his tux and he introduced himself to Mary Gross, and since I was standing right there, he introduced himself to me, as well. And I told them my name. He was very friendly, telling us all about how he was using Robert Israel's original scoring for The General, and Mary Gross fawned for him a little. When I got back to my seat, though, I wished I had met the violinist, Galina Zherdev. Hummina hummina hummina. I wish I had done more than just meet her. Yow. I spent the next few hours fantasizing about what a sophisticated and romantic relationship we would have, she and I. Whooo. Something was robbed from the spirit of Keaton to see him dissected into clips like this, and so more and more I watched the look of concentration and sublimity on the face of Galina Zherdev.
Last weekend at the Oingo Boingo show at the Universal Amphitheatre I pushed a girl down. Shirelle and I watched the last game of the World Series at the bar in the Hollywood Athletic Club. Atlanta beat Cleveland one to nothing. We were about seven drinks into the night as we walked to the show. Our seats were not far from the stage, but they were off to the side. I saw an unoccupied row closer to the middle when the show started and we went over there. A couple of girls came. They said they followed us. Boingo was rad. That's right, RAD. Much fun energy. I danced like a happy high school kid and sang along without missing a word. I wanted to slam around down in the pit, so I grabbed Shirelle's hand and walked to the aisle leading down to the floor. A security guard was there and wouldn't let us through. The last time I would ever see Oingo Boingo. I handed him a twenty and he let us go, but there was another bastard at the bottom of the aisle before the floor and I was out of twenties. I stood among the people dancing in the aisle, pondering the sitch, when this girl in front of me turns around and shoves me as hard as she can knocking me back a few steps. I don't know if she resented my presence or if she was just being playful, or what, but when she did it again, I shoved her back and she went tumbling backward ass over down the stairs to the floor. Everybody turned to look at me, including the security guard. I took Shrill's hands and we went back to our original seats. She had to go to the bathroom and was gone a long time, so I took a stroll along the concourse to see the band from other angles. Cry of the Vato! Go Sluggo! Yeah, Bartok. There were some guys slamming around in the middle of the concourse, so I slammed with him. Some guy in a yellow polo shirt kept trying to grab me so I put him in a headlock and kept bouncing around and slamming into people. Soon other guys in yellow polo shirts were trying to get me. What the fuck's with all these guys in the yellow polo shirts? Then I noticed that the backs of their shirts said SECURITY. Doh! I let go the headlock and tried to explain over the loud music that I was just a rational fun-loving guy, no harm intended, but they came after me with their hands, and I pushed them away and ran around the amphitheater like Benny Hill with a bunch of yellow-shirted security guards after me. I made a go of it for about a minute before some dude jumped from out of nowhere and brought me down. Then they went Rodney King on my ass. Finally someone twisted my arm up behind my back and rushed me up the stairs and out of the building. "Asshole, you're going to jail. Wait til the sheriff gets here!" the dork from the headlock whined victoriously.
"Nah nah nah nah nah," I squinted my face and mocked his tone, like an eight-year-old on a playground. "Shut up, dork," I said. "Get me a manager and hope I don't sue the shit out of this place for inadequate security."
A guy in a tie showed up and I told him what was what. "Look, all I was doing was dancing and this idiot attacked me. You can't tell these clowns are security guards. I want a refund. Screw that, this is the last Boingo show ever. I wan't more than a refund." We argued back and forth and then the show ended. I spotted Shirelle walking out and grabbed her hand and left the security guy with an earful of fuckyous and we left.
Last weekend at the Oingo Boingo show at the Universal Amphitheatre I pushed a girl down. Shirelle and I watched the last game of the World Series at the bar in the Hollywood Athletic Club. Atlanta beat Cleveland one to nothing. We were about seven drinks into the night as we walked to the show. Our seats were not far from the stage, but they were off to the side. I saw an unoccupied row closer to the middle when the show started and we went over there. A couple of girls came. They said they followed us. Boingo was rad. That's right, RAD. Much fun energy. I danced like a happy high school kid and sang along without missing a word. I wanted to slam around down in the pit, so I grabbed Shirelle's hand and walked to the aisle leading down to the floor. A security guard was there and wouldn't let us through. The last time I would ever see Oingo Boingo. I handed him a twenty and he let us go, but there was another bastard at the bottom of the aisle before the floor and I was out of twenties. I stood among the people dancing in the aisle, pondering the sitch, when this girl in front of me turns around and shoves me as hard as she can knocking me back a few steps. I don't know if she resented my presence or if she was just being playful, or what, but when she did it again, I shoved her back and she went tumbling backward ass over down the stairs to the floor. Everybody turned to look at me, including the security guard. I took Shrill's hands and we went back to our original seats. She had to go to the bathroom and was gone a long time, so I took a stroll along the concourse to see the band from other angles. Cry of the Vato! Go Sluggo! Yeah, Bartok. There were some guys slamming around in the middle of the concourse, so I slammed with him. Some guy in a yellow polo shirt kept trying to grab me so I put him in a headlock and kept bouncing around and slamming into people. Soon other guys in yellow polo shirts were trying to get me. What the fuck's with all these guys in the yellow polo shirts? Then I noticed that the backs of their shirts said SECURITY. Doh! I let go the headlock and tried to explain over the loud music that I was just a rational fun-loving guy, no harm intended, but they came after me with their hands, and I pushed them away and ran around the amphitheater like Benny Hill with a bunch of yellow-shirted security guards after me. I made a go of it for about a minute before some dude jumped from out of nowhere and brought me down. Then they went Rodney King on my ass. Finally someone twisted my arm up behind my back and rushed me up the stairs and out of the building. "Asshole, you're going to jail. Wait til the sheriff gets here!" the dork from the headlock whined victoriously.
"Nah nah nah nah nah," I squinted my face and mocked his tone, like an eight-year-old on a playground. "Shut up, dork," I said. "Get me a manager and hope I don't sue the shit out of this place for inadequate security."
A guy in a tie showed up and I told him what was what. "Look, all I was doing was dancing and this idiot attacked me. You can't tell these clowns are security guards. I want a refund. Screw that, this is the last Boingo show ever. I wan't more than a refund." We argued back and forth and then the show ended. I spotted Shirelle walking out and grabbed her hand and left the security guy with an earful of fuckyous and we left.
posted by johnz at 10:20 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home