Monday, August 17, 2009

I Do Not Feel Good


I made this sign last night for Crue Fest at Starlake. It would turn out to be mildly prophetic. I like it due to the combination of grammatical ineptitude and general relevance (Dr. Feelgood tribute tour, ugghhh).
Anyway, my car has been out of commission (alternator), so Jepson and Kyla picked me up. I was a tad exhausted from a long day/night before and a 5 hour car ride earlier in the morning. However, the acquisition of 6 packs of Lone Star beef jerky at the Claysville Exxon buoyed my spirits. The Indian owner guy posed the usual question as I dumped $30+ worth of beef jerky on the counter, "Having a party, ehhh?" It's all about the dry texture and consistent infusion of salt/smoke. If I do atheist Christmas gift assortments (kind of like a Safshire Farms gift box), I would think Lone Star would be a definite as well as those hot mini-pepperoncinis.
Anyway, we cruise up to the show listening to Jepson's favorite band. They're an over-the-top metal throwback band with sexually graphic lyrics. For the life of me, I can't remember the name - I think it's Phantom Angel or something. Personally, I didn't mind hearing the cd one time, but I think once is sufficient. I am not a fan, but I will salute their use of the word "clitty." They must have stolen that off an episode of 7 Lives Exposed. I'd be willing to bet on it.
We get to the lot and they park us way off in Section N - basically this is like the Gobi Desert section of Mongolia. You're way off in the back. Fortunately, his extended crew was a few rows over. They had a large, canopy which seemed to have a hint of Downs Syndrome. I know that sounds harsh but the pop-up tent seemed to have this lethargic, drooping personality. It really didn't do much to provide shelter as the heat and sun were pretty brutal. We had a good time for a couple hours highlighted by some injectable pineapple/vodka jello shots.
As Theory of a Mailman hit the stage, people began to scatter and head in. I suggested we drive up and park at the top of the steps. We cruised up and a parking dude escorted us to a side area. Great spot. This helped with some of the later stages of people watching. We were sequestered for most of the tailgate so probably missed out on some high end freak shit. Remember, even though Motley Crue is kind of stale these days, they still inspire a generation.
Anyway, those guys went in for Godsmack. I ran into Gig and Nichole and basically hung with them by the limos. We zipped in for Motley Crue. The show was surprisingly weak. The vast majority of material was from the Dr. Feelgood cd - probably one of their weakest efforts. And they just sounded bad. I honestly don't remember much of the concert itself. I was far more interested in the entertaining company.
Anyway, we were walking back to the limo. At the top of the steps I somehow snagged the lip of my sandal on one of the steps. It left this bizarre gash underneath the big toe on my right foot. STINGING/THROBBING PAIN. The girls started laughing because I violently tripped but regained my balance before falling. That laughter quickly subsided as my entire foot was covered in blood. The underneath of my foot is gushing blood. I lean up against the limo and Gig snags a medical kit and a bottle of water. I start to slump and realize that I've got to sit down. I then blacked out in a light haze for about 4 minutes. I probably lost (I'm guessing) about 1.7 pints in a few minutes. Anyway, Gig gauzed it up and I regained a little composure. We walked over to Jepsonian and I got my duffle bag. I ended up going back to Washington with Gig and Nikki (some prefer to call it WashPa).
We got back to the house and Gig cleaned up my foot with the skill of a talented nursing assistant. Just kidding, I mean registered nurse. She did her absolute best to help me forget about my fucked up foot. Thanks Gig!
I tried putting weight on it today and it started bleeding again. So I crashed for a bit and just removed the gauze and redid it. My wrap job looks really ghetto but I think it will suffice. The gash is still pretty deep and open. I probably should get stitches but I think if I can keep it from bleeding, it should be alright. I still might go to Doctors Urgent Care tomorrow. It's just that my entire toe is bruised and mangled. So the fall out is no golf and obviously no running. Pearl Jam in Chicago is a pipe dream at this point. Just hobbled walking and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to use the gas pedal.
The other signs from the night...

Gunt Sweet Gunt (aka Home Sweet Home)
Gunts, Gunts, Gunts (spinoff of Girls, Girls, Girls) - my personal favorite
Vick is a Dick (not really relevant)
Pamela Anderson Loves Borat

A long night, A painful night, A wonderful night
Motley Crue really needs to hang it up. They're kind of turning into Spinal Tap. Well... Spinal Tap is a poor analogy. Spinal Tap knew what the hell was going on. Motley Crue, not so much.

Saturday, August 01, 2009


Well, today is the big day - August 1. I turned 39. What a catastrophic achievement of biblical proportions! For the record, I have always been one to shun pre-planned celebrations. If you asked me, "Saf, what did you do on your birthday last year?" - I'd have absolutely no idea whatsoever. I tend to treat everyday the same in an attempt to ride a wave of absolute consistency. In many ways, it's odd. When everyone is having the time of the their lives on New Years or the infamous night before Thanksgiving, I generally tend to avoid the party and lay low. Churchies will call me a "wet blanket." Street thugs (surprisingly from Beech Bottom) might view me with mild contempt. "Whassup wit dat? C'mon Lil' Saffy. True dat!" Rednecks will inquire, "Saf, you ain't gonna do that shot of Beam?"
Suffice to say, I don't generally celebrate my birthday. This year is a little different though. I woke up and ran about 3 miles and then mowed my lawn. Good workout. Then, I jumped in the shower and decided to eat lunch at Wesbanco Arena. For those of you in the dark, allow me to guide you into the light. Do you see? Do you see the light? If you've been following the local news, you'd realize that this weekend they're having the annual Jehovah's Witness Convention at the arena. They're actually spreading it out over 3 weekends due to overwhelming demand and lack of accommodations. I decided that since I was going to see Slayer, I might as well try to strike some balance in my life. Hence, a Jehovah lunchable. I put on my only religious attire - a Pope Benedict XVI U.S. tour shirt along with khaki shorts. I figured this might help me blend in. This assumption proved false. First, I failed to realize that everyone would be wearing nicer church-going attire - suits and dresses. I got some strange looks from the Jehovites. It dawned on me that they were probably not amused with the shirt. In their eyes, I think a pope t-shirt could be viewed as somewhat offensive. My bad.
I arrived at lunchtime with my DeFelice Italian sub and grabbed a seat in the corner upper deck. Not much really going on. People milling about here and there. I had hoped to see a little of the presentation (possibly a reenactment of the fornification of Adam and Eve) but I timed it wrong. Anyway, I start eating my sub and reading the paper. A young man named Dave from Spencer, WV must have seen that I was a little out of place. He greeted me and asked me where I was from. I let him know that I'm just a local. He proudly distributed some Witness literature and went to get me a DVD. I ate half my sub, chips, water and bolted. Not the entertainment value I had hoped for. Then again, I wasn't trying to engage anyone.
A few observations. Having been intimately acquainted with all things Jehovah, I feel uniquely qualified to comment. Most people view the Jehovahs as a cult. As if their brand of religion is less cult-like. Every religion embodies this weird ritualistic behavior. It's as if acting incredibly bizarre is almost a rite of passage and mode of acceptance by the flock. The Jehovites do take it one step further. First, they actively discourage their members from getting a higher education. Second, they don't let you register to vote or participate in the political process. Third, there's the blood transfusion issue. I wonder if you're even allowed to donate blood. Probably not. I'm not even going to delve into the knocking. The voting and education issues seem overtly linked to maintaining control over the flock. But the blood transfusion and the parental refusal to accept medical care in extreme cases - c'mon, what the fuck is that about in the 21st century?
I will say one thing though. The Jehovahs are an incredibly inviting and racially inclusive group. I've been to a few functions and the one thing that immediately struck me was the friendly interaction between blacks and whites. Didn't see much in the way of Asians or Hispanics, but then again, this is Eastern Ohio.
I made one other important observation. The Jehovahs sometimes make fun of and mock the crazies. I'm talking the true wackjobs who can ONLY talk about their faith and the church. You can't talk about the stock market, the Steelers or even a sale on ground chuck. Everything is "The Lord speaketh" and "Let us pray." My point - just like every other religion or cult, there's a definable mainstream element which mocks the hardcore super religious freaks. The way I see it, the problem is, when your religion becomes too cultlike, how can you properly define where "normal" begins and what constitutes "freakshow?" I'm sure it's the same deal with Islamic Jihad and off-shoot Hindu sects.
One other thing, assuming only 144,000 people get into heaven or are saved or whatever ... Why in the name of the fucking pope would you actively solicit new members? Wouldn't your success diminish your chances of doing well in the afterlife. Anyway, just something to think about.
So onward to Slayer. Tailgating was predictably weak because most of the crowd went in early. I love metal as much as the next tatooed, pierced up weirdo but in all honesty, how much can one tolerate. They opened the gates at 2:30pm. Everyone seemed a little worn out by the time Slayer and Manson hit the stage. One girl referred to Slayer as "consummate professionals." I wholeheartedly agree. They opened w/ Darkness of Christ & Disciple - The God Hates Us All song. BAD ASS. And unlike the Jehovite gathering, I got a few compliments regarding the pope t-shirt. Just trying to take things in a different direction. Long and intriguing night. I think I'll go running and sweat out some of the toxins.