Example: Saw World Party the other night with the boys. They had a hit in he 90's called Way Down Now and seemed to hover somewhere between stardom and journeyman band for a while, then slipped off the radar. At least mine. Anyway...
Matt Danley*, mi compadre in crime**, is a big fan, and with them playing at the Crescent Moon, practically in the back yard, we made our plans.
Long Hair and Ax,* coincidentally, had just hung Christmas lights at Crescent, so our tickets were comped and it seemed as if all was right in the world, synchronistically*** speaking.
Oh, and is this a story I'm telling you? Yes and no.
Its more like thought fragments cobbled together, than something with a beginning, middle and end, but yeah, it's a story of sorts. A true story. At least my version thereof. Call it the myth of me and the downtown boys.
And at this point I'm tempted to wax descriptive about each of us, just a hint, but I'm also afraid of:
1. Caricaturing each -and-
2. Heavy-handedly guiding your own interpretation of reality.
Can't be helped I guess, and at this point, I should probably stop stepping on my own dick and get on with it. So...
My father visited recently and said my friends were teenage boys. Psychologically speaking, of course. And there's something to that, as the roots of our friendship were formed either in teen years, or in adolescent-seeming contest, or both. Meeting over beers, especially, we tend to celebrate our mutually arrested development.
But their are complexities to each, fragmented dualisms that cannot be easily encompassed, and part of why we are friends.
None of us are entirely what we seem.
So here's where I should write a hook, keep your attention, because I need to go out and interact with the daylight.
However, f*ck that. F*ck the hook. You've come this far after all.
And it's true.
And it's complete bullsh*t.
And there's more to follow...****
*Names, as always, changed to protect the innocent. Or not so innocent. Anyway...
**Okay, we've never committed a crime together that I'm aware. Misdemeanor perhaps?
***Not a word, but my father uses it all the time, with compunction. Call it an homage. Or the evolution of language. Whatever.
****Still a hook?