IT'S A GAS, GAS, GAS!!
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Name: 2000 Man
Subject: RE: Pittsburgh
Date: Friday, September 30, 2005
Time: 8:45:16 AM
Remote Address: 18.104.22.168
Message ID: 172442
Parent ID: 172373
Thread ID: 172373
So I stopped at the record store to grab a T shirt cuz I agree wtih Pdog that you don't wear a shirt from the band you're going to see (we are in the VAST minirity at a Stones show), and in a discussion with the owners of the store we agreed that at a concert your T shirt should be for a record store, radio station (not the "classic rock" station, either), a band even more obscure than the one you're seeing or when all else fails, a Ramones shirt works for any type of show you're going to see. So I grabbed a blue T shirt that says Music Saves and as plain as they are, some chick said she liked it. I asked her if she bought records in Cleveland, but she said "no," so I told her she should. Then I think we started chaotic bullshit, but I'll get to that in a bit.
When I left for Pittsburgh to Nothing Blues' house I stopped and grabbed some Cleveland goodies, Great Lakes Burning River Pale Ale and some Nosferatu, which only comes out for a few weeks a year. I think if you drink six of them you'll see Jeebus, 12 and you'll see god and watch the walls melt. We just had one cuz we had to drive and it was getting a little late.
NB had to sweet talk his boss and work out a deal to work late the next day. It was a masterful display of management manipulation, and we were good for crashing at a Holiday Inn. So that's where we went. I have no idea where this place was. Pittsburgh is a mess as far as streets go. It's a really pretty town with tons of trees and lots of communities with a lot of character. Every street is apparently 60 mph and every entrance is a short turn that you can only navigate at ten mph, so getting on the main roads is simply, fucking nuts. But NB drove pretty good with his boss in one ear and all that mess. We got to the Holiday Inn, spent exactly four minutes getting ready (guys can do that) and went to the bar to determine a plan of attack. Bartender Smitty informed us over Guinness that we could have No Neck Timmy give us a ride in the hotel van, and we had called Yellow cab and found out we were 12th in line. We had another Guinness and told a guy from heaven (that's Latrobe to the rest of you) that he wouldn't have any troubles getting tickets, so he sent more Guinness our way. Fully enabled by Guinness and Nosferatu, we talked to No Neck Timmy and he said he had to piss or something, and these other guys were trying to check in and hold him for a few minutes to wait for them to get ready. This was unacceptable, so a Yellow Cab pulled up and we said, "Dood - you gotta take us to PNC."
Cabbie says, "I gotta see if this guy's here for the airport."
We says, "Dood - Fuck 'em."
He looks in the lobby and says, "I don't see them, let's go."
At this point, I'd like to say sorry to the guy that probably missed his flight on account of us hijacking his cab. Yes, I'd do it again, and I firmly believe that the extra time we alotted this guy forced him to come to his senses and see the Stones. So it was a favor, really.
We went to meet a few of NB's friends at the corner of Sandusky and La Cock street. I won't go into the details of Jen (I think it was Jen) totally not understanding that no matter which direction you approach the corner of Sandusky and La Cock, you'll be at the same corner. It was funny as hell. But they let us tailgate a bit, and then gave us a road pop, called us shitheads and sent us on our merry way, into the land of backstage clusterfucking (or "onstage seating, if you like).
They told us to go to will call. So we did. It's a long assed walk through a virtual sea of humanity and people standing in lines to nowhere. It's also closed. So we ask the dude with the megaphone, where do we go? "Go to Roberto Clemente." So we do this. It's a long assed walk back in the direction we came from. We get up to a window and describe our plight. They tell us to go to Honus Wagner. It's not that bad a walk, but it pretty much completes an entire circle around the ballpark. Finally we're at a window where they aren't idiots and we get our tickets and go in, to some "special" area.
I say "special" because only those dumb enough to pay six bucks for a goddammed hotdog are allowed back there. We were starving to, as drunks take longer to get moving than regular people. For six bucks I loaded up every condiment I could, and one lady said, "Do you know those are jalapeno peppers?" I said, "For six bucks I'm putting as much of everything extra you have on here no matter what it is."
My breath was minty fresh!
A one ounce bag of chips was 2 bucks. They got no takers on that one, and said they weren't surprised.
We got to watch Pearl Jam on a nice flat screen TV. They ran through a qucik set of their bigest hits, so it was kinda like, "Here's Ten, and a few covers." Eddie was drinking red wine out of the bottle. I'm sorry, but that strikes me as just anti rock n roll to the extreme. They sounded pretty good, but the behind the head guitar shit had us in the backstage fan sty laughing. We saw Stray Cat Dave and TomL there (Dave lives around here, so I was hoping to run into him). We hung out a bit, had five dollar beers and waited until they told us we had to get in line. We figured it wouldn't hurt to try and be first in line just in case it was first come first served (believe me, this was so disorganized that it was a fifty/fifty crapshoot). They actually walked us all through the crowd (you CANNOT piss or get another beer while the guy that looks like one of Mick's bastard kids is wandering you around or blabbing into his megaphone while reading off of some sheet about how lucky we are), in a big, convoluted circle until we wound up right back where we started, but now we were THE LAST IN LINE!
God fucking DAMN!
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