Friday night. The Bagdad, waiting for Cort and Fatboy’s latest screening of Battlestar Galactica. Visits and words with friends and acquaintances, all of whom are at least a little worried about the current economic state, but we can still get food and companionship and job advice. (Even about jobs in Afghanistan.)
More moments: Hug practice (I got some). A toddler happily getting ice cream. That same toddler also happily playing with a large, soft toy cockroach. Mike Russell amusedly showing his lack of experience with kids. (It’s good the toddler doesn’t know the significance of the Watchmen smiley-face, is all I’ll say.)
Around 9:00 we started into the theater to find seats. It was an especially orderly, friendly crowd, the kind of crowd whose members thank the theater employees for putting on these screenings. I wolfed down a sausage-shrimp gumbo and then visited with people. I found that Shannon Wheeler knows the original Witch Mountain movies without ever having seen them, because a childhood friend described them to him so vividly. (“It’s like the Platonic Ideal of a film for you,” I told him.) The entire audience lost it at the ridiculous sight of a human-vampire shared shower in the episode of Moonlight that played on the SciFi Channel the hour leading up to Battlestar. Clearly the scene was meant to be sexy and tragic, and it failed at both but succeeded at comedy.
We watched the show (meaning the show we’d wanted to watch, not Moonlight). Fatboy grabbed the microphone at the end and said, in a small, hurt voice, “Come back next week for another kick in the balls.” (Yeah. Another tough episode.) Homeward movement happened then, heading back into the coldish night and back to my warm apartment. (That makes it sound like the whole theater went back to my apartment. Please know that that didn’t happen. Um, you could guess that, right?)
Saturday. A reading day. An online day. A getting-groceries day. A day that doesn’t yield much to report, which didn’t keep me from finding stuff to post.
Sunday. One more Cort and Fatboy-related event for me: attending their first and only performance as a band. They appeared at the Beaverton Best Buy as two of the five members of the band Meh. Their band was created partly as publicity for Best Buy’s in-store music store/school of rock: neither Cort nor Fatboy had ever played guitars before about six weeks ago, but with in-store training they learned enough to not completely suck at playing them. They also dealt with Rock Star Time, where sound checks and other prep stretch out so that the show doesn’t start on time. While waiting, they played around with demonstration instruments on the showroom floor (you’ll be glad to know I resisted playing the drums with my head) and visited with fans, one of whom had made a small cardboard sign saying “Meh” and another wearing a homemade T-shirt reading “What the Hell is Meh?”
Before Meh played, The Punk Group played, and they’re a group that can count members of Devo as fans. They played about eight songs, most of them punk-with-a-smile. They surprised me with a song I’d heard before on Rick Emerson’s show, “Tight End Wide Receiver”:
Tight End Wide Receiver(Emerson uses the song during news reports about jocks.)
Tight End Wide Receiver
Tight End Wide Receiver
Tight End Wide Receiver
I’m a Packer
I’m a Ram
I’m a Cowboy
Their show ended, and Meh began to set up. Seeing one Best Buy employee carrying a drum over his head to get it onstage made me want to see a rock star not throw around a guitar while playing, but instead throw around a drum while playing. That’s rock! Meh – three guitarists, a drummer and a singer – played four songs, the only four songs they’d learned: Blur’s “Song 2,” Whiskey Fire’s “So Help Me Jesus,” Weezer’s “Hash Pipe,” and Green Day’s “Brain Stew.” And, I’ll say, that Green Day performance – no, that performance of Green Day, it’s not like they suddenly changed into Billie Joe, Mike Dirnt and Tré Cool – actually had a pretty good energy, complete with getting the audience to sing along and bounce along. (I bounced. Earlier I’d pretended not to know how to Pogo Dance, because that amused me.)
“Okay, now you can get groupies!” I told Fatboy at the end.
Turned out there was a third band that was going to play the same stage, but I didn’t stick around for that, instead going to the Beaverton Powell’s and browsing (finding catvalente’s Palimpsest in the proper section, and even a copy of kradical’s Dragon Precinct, too), then driving home because I wanted to eat. Those groceries aren’t going to eat themselves, and I want to eat them before mold does.