Thursday, June 22, 2006

In which Birdmonster witnesses our national shame, is surrounded by Biblical imagery, and immortalizes the Doubtful Guest

After watching our men's soccer team both get
jobbed and play awfully, thus earning their plane
flight home after playing no better than a third
rate high school girl's team, I can't help but be a
little sad. At this point, I'm rooting for Ghana, who
pull the crumpling-bitch routine far less often
than, say, Austria or the Czech Republic, despite
the fact that Ghana is destined to be mopped up
by the juggernaut of soccer supremacy that is
Brazil. Ah well: for the next few days, let us join
together in love of the outmatched underdog,
regardless of the fact we can't pronounce any of
their names* and attempt to disremember our
team's hatred of cogent strategy and shots on

Let's take a step back in the blog Delorian. It's a
short trip though. Just a couple nights. A trip, I
admit, that wouldn't be necessary if I'd been
slightly less engrossed in the ridiculous,
conspiracy-theory, talking dolphin, drug-laden,
science-fiction dorkfest I've been enjoying in the
back bench of the Whaleship Essex.

So, to St. Louis and the Off Broadway we go, with
our friends and countrymen, the Talk. When the
show started, the crowd could be euphemistically
described as "intimate." The Talk ended up forcing
everyone to introduce themselves: there were an
abundance of Sarahs. But by the time we went on,
the place was cozier, some audience member's
monikers were unknown, and everyone in
attendance was well on their way to lubricated,
next day katzenjammers. We ended up two
encores deep into our catalogue, racking our brains
to remember the few songs we hadn't yet played.
The night ended with hugs and handshakes and a
couple who claimed they might drive down to
Nashville to see it all over again; didn't happen, but
God bless anyway. The thought was endearing.

One crappy hotel, three hundred some-odd miles,
and a dinner of suprisingly pleasant Souther sushi
later, we got on-stage in Nashville. We played
before the Afters, and after no one, as the Talk
spent their afternoon at Six Flags, rejoicing in
recreational queasiness. The Afters are a Christian
rock band, but please, think Collective Soul rather
than Creed or Stryper (who, oddly enough, will
make another appearance in our sordid tale).
Incredibly nice gentlemen, incredibly tight
musicians, and, although not my usual cup of tea, I
must say I enjoyed their stage show. None of that
shoe-gazey yawn vibe and delightfully free of
Scott Stapp-ian annoyance: just rock and roll. All
the best to them.

(An aside: I found a button in my pocket that said
"Satan is Real" and cackled like a lunatic before
tucking it back away).

It was an all-ages shindig and those tend to wrap
up early. With a day off today to be spent either in
our car trundling towards Cincinnatti, where we've
already been, or hanging out in historic Nashville,
we opted for the latter, so we checked into a
Day's Inn, attempted to find some goodbad
television, found only copious ads for phone-sex
lines, Girls Gone Wild, and DUI lawyers (ahhh, to
be part of the latenight market), and passed out
fitfully. After watching the aforementioned
drubbing of our boys in white, we dined at The
Pancake Pantry.

Now, let it be known that I am a self-proclaimed
connosoir of all things bread-breakfast, including
but not limited to pancakes, french toast, and
biscuits and gravy. The Pancake Pantry is
definately on the medal podium, along with Salem's
OHOP (not, I repeat NOT IHOP) and my dad's
delicious homemades. If you make it to Nashville,
give them your money. Delicious to the point of

Ah, but where are we now, you might ask? Well,
Dave is cyborgin at Kinko's, but Pete & I are
waiting for Zach to get his (and Birdmonster's)
first tattoo. Eschewing the designs on hand (large
breated women leaning on crosses, a drumset
adorned with the maxim "Drummers Rule
(exclamation point)", various species of large cats
feigning ferocity), Zach fulfilled an year's old
desire: a tattoo of Edward Gorey's Doubtful
Guest. According to a portly tattooist there, the
creature in question looks like the offspring of a
wookie and a penguin, which is an apt but also
unfair description. The Doubtful Guest is far
cooler than that. I mean, it came from the brain of
Edward Gorey, a man fond of wandering urban
streets in a fur coat and red hightop Cons; in other
words, a man of impeccable taste and curious skill.
When the bandage/scab era has passed, we'll share.

And yes, I mentioned Stryper's reappearance in
this here post. You see, this was a Christian
establishment and unabashedly so. They had a
Stryper** SHRINE complete with signed merch &
drum sticks, next to P.O.D. posters and other, less
memorable fellows who rocked for the Lord. In
fact, there was a sign on the wall which read
"Absolutely No Bad Language." When Zach's ink
surgery was done and he came over to show it off,
I paid heed to the sign and exclaimed, while

"That looks fucking amazing!"

They threw holy water in my eyes and they bled.

*there was in fact some guy on the Ghanian team
named Pimgpong. Just incredibly awesome. Much
better than, say, Tabletonnis. Man. Terrible joke
there. I'm hanging my head in shame.

**for those unfamiliar with Stryper, they are the
premier 80's Christian metal band who dressed like
bumblebees. Seriously. Look it up.


Megan said...

ok first of all what what the hell is the point of a christian metal band...that has been bugging me for ever thats so oxy moronic...o well...w/e

second congrats on the new tattoo sounds completely exciting. oh ya and good way to screw with peoples minds...its sooo fun...i seam to remember pulling some"what do u mean no fucking swearing...there just fucking words. I dont understand how there shittier than other words."...thats just so fun...mooohahahahahaha

and yes i have gone insane

Megan said...

omg did u know that Stryper toured with W.A.S.P...sorry...i just had to share that...

i mean there tour was called heaven and hell...but its still weird that they like toured with completely open satan worshipers who was around saying that Lucifer loves them in their songs and drink blood out of human skulls during their shows but w/e

Megan said...

sorry...i know that this is like my third comment but i totaly though that the Stryper days were over...dude styper is still a band...why do the 80s have to still torture us...*cries*

Anonymous said...

SOME and I say some..Christian Rock Bands are awesome. Not all music uses profanity and/or needs it to make you feel good. Not all Christian music is per say God oriented either. Music in itself is amazing! Let's stay open minded here.. Don't quite agree with the No cussing sign though... Makes you want to cuss more! I'm a Christian, not perfect, and unfortunately cuss with the best/worst of them. I love music! It's all Good!
I do wish the 80's would die and NEVER come back though. I totally hear you on this!!
Birdmonster, can't wait to see you at Bottom of the Hill SF! The tattoo will be in great shape by then! Makes me want another.....hmmmm.

Wes said...

austria isnt in the world cup gentlemen ;)

Gasoline Hobo said...

so are reading The Guide, or something by Brin? something else?

i am a fan of science fiction dorkfests.

p.s.: you are being added to my sidebar whether you like it or not.

Megan said...

oh...i wasnt saying christian rock was bad i mean like i dont listen too it but its music and i respect that...i waas just saying that christian metal is kinda funny cuz of metals typical image. its totally the opposite of typical metal to be christian. I mean its like peing a PETA activist and working in a butcher shop.

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birdmonster said...

Wes: Um...yes. Certainly I knew that. (slaps head, flogs self)

GH: The fact that there may in fact be multiple talking dolphin, conspiracy books just filled me with glee. I was reading a book called The Illuminatus! Trilogy, by two guys whose names I forget. And thanks for the sidebar love, which was returned with smooches.

Megan: Re: Christian Metal; yeah, it is a little weird, considering the metal genre was founded by Black Sabbath, who, of course, were fronted by Ozzy, who, of course, once bit the head off a dove at a meeting with music executives. But, I suppose, if you want to get your religious message out there, I say, go for it in whatever way you choose. I just wouldn't be preaching with that whole guttural moaning thing. So so unsavory.

Anjaka: Your crappy spamming is crappy. Know this.

Anonymous said...

Really, a conspiracy-theory sci-fi epic dorkfest without talking dolphins wouldn't be worth very much, would it? How would anybody get their secret messages to/from Atlantis?

hail eris!

Gasoline Hobo said...

ah! forgot about that one. i grok you fully now. robert anton wilson...and some other dude. bob schaeffer? paul schaeffer? if it's not wilford brimley, i give up.

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