And if you think I’m just some kind of washed up, ex-rocker, painter guy who can’t take the decibels any longer, well, you’re right. But that’s not where I was going with that. Nope. Instead, I was aiming to let you know that the Higher Ground management had this message taped to the entrance of the show last night: “Warning: Tonight’s show is extremely loud. Ear plugs are for sale at the ticket counter for $1.”
Now how cool is that? At the same time you plunk down $20 to see some aging rockers, you slip them another dollar for the earplugs. Go figure.
And they weren’t kidding about the noise level either. My ears are still ringing – and I was wearing the ear condoms. While it was great to turn my back on life’s little distractions – you know, things like where to live and where to work – the best part of the show for me was the Spinal Tap-like moments. First of all, J Mascis, the lead singer and guitarist, is about 3,743 bong hits over what was needed for his lifetime of self-medication. And then throw in 25 years of absolute ear-piercing rock and you get a guy who mumbles, continues to turn it up louder, and slowly bobs from side to side even though the music is going at about 20 times his bobbing rate. Better yet, you get this kind of dialogue with J during the show: “Alright.” Oh yeah, and then there was this long discourse before the last song: “We’ve got time for one more.” Time? It was fucking 11:30 in rock land, my friend. What, did he have a meeting to get to?
During the second song of the set a small line of smoke began to appear on stage. At first, I thought it was just some lame stage theatrics. Until, that is, the roadies began scrambling to the amp and yanking all the cords out of it. The thing was on fire. Worse, everyone in the place except J – the guy playing through it – noticed it. He took notice – still in the middle of the song – when the roadie hoisted a new amp up on the ridiculously large collection. Seeing the new amp, J promptly moved over to it and rather vigorously cranked the volume to its peak. Rock on. Spinal Tap lives!
For most of the day, in fact, I think my ears were about the only part of me that was alert. No bother, though, because this painter boy has still not found a painting gig. Instead, it appears I’m in the pity zone by getting offers like I did today: Getting a camp on Curtis Pond ready for the soon-to-be-arriving owners. Easy work. Seasonal, as they say. And, of course, it’s an absolute hoot to see how the other side lives from time to time.
The camp owners who employed Snarky for an afternoon actually own three homes. Or so I’m told by the middleman who lined the gig up for me. In addition to the Curtis Pond digs, these tony folks also own a home in Bar Harbor, Maine and Fairfield, Connecticut. And, according to their neighbors, they still complain about the taxes. That’s called balls.
But I got it done – even hanging the fucking flag up on the porch for them. Oh, how the rich love America! Well, as long as the poor bastards are fighting their wars and prepping their second and third homes. Whatever.
Don’t get me wrong, I love this country, too. In fact, I love it so much I think it’s essential to keep making it better. Too many of these flag flyers, however, seem to think we’ve reached our pinnacle of greatness – not to mention justice. In other words, they’ve got what they need and fuck the rest of us. They were the same kind of people who got all bitchy and itchy with their trigger fingers when the slaves said “fuck off,” the suffrage movement said “bug off,” and the civil rights folks said “move over.”
Besides, what’s the big deal about flying the flag? Is it to remind them where they live? Senile old bastards. I’d be impressed if these oh-so-proud Americans took their flag-flying SUVs and RVs to Baghdad for a little patriotic parade. Go ahead, it’s the least you could do if you really believe in the bullshit going on over there. I dare you.
Speaking of the bullshit going on over there, have you been seeing how far Peter Freyne is willing to shove his bulbous head up Pat Leahy’s ass? Fuckin’ A, the guy has no shame. I really hope the Leahy staff is counting Freyne’s fawning publicity as a campaign contribution.
This time, Freyne’s toting the Leahy line that it’s not fair that anti-war activists are targeting Vermont’s federally elected officials – and not Governor Douglas -- in their efforts to stop the war. And, as usual, Douglas has the best retort:
Well, I expect that the protesters are interested in the congressional offices because they [the congressional delegation] have something to say about it, whereas I don’t. They’re the ones who authorize military action, authorize the expenditures for that action. I think their concern is directed appropriately.
Yep. And I guess someone should tell that to Leahy and Freyne. Actually, just tell Leahy and then Freyne will certainly just absorb the news through his perch in Leahy’s sphincter.
Sure, Douglas should be getting shit for being a Bush-loving Republican – that’s a no-brainer. And it’s been done at Vermont sites like this. But Freyne always seems to think that if he didn’t say it or make a stupid pun out of it then it doesn’t exist. What do they call that? Oh yeah: Narcissism.
Earth to Leahy (and those occupying his ass): The anti-war protesters are targeting you, Sanders and Welch because – as Douglas said – you have the power to cut off the funding for this war. Duh. And it was your political party that ran on a platform in 2006 that promised to END THE WAR. Remember that? We do. Just as we also know that any one of you could launch a mighty fine filibuster of any more war funding whenever you find the courage to match your rhetoric. Doulgas can’t do that – you can. And we’re waiting.
Enough already. I’ve got to get some sleep. Are the peepers still out or are my ears still ringing?
And, by the way, keep those quips, tips and comments coming my way via email at: VtSnarkyBoy@yahoo.com
Thanks for playing.
