countessian

blitzen trapper at el rey (cursed show of doom)

(And Two Gallants, too)

Lesson one from the Cursed Show of Doom: Ladies — The time it would take you to get ready to leave the house needs to be multiplied by the number of girls you’re with, and then tripled if the getting ready is occuring in a hotel room in Pasadena.

Lesson two from the Cursed Show of Doom: Bands — Driving around on nationwide tours is going to at some point break your van, and you may therefore have to spend the night in Woodland Hills. Everyone will feel very sorry for you.

Lesson three from the Cursed Show of Doom: Photographers — No matter how many people that have known you for a zillion years confirm that you’re on the list with a photo pass, sometimes that will fail to happen. You will then have to enter into heated debate with a seven-foot-tall security man.

Lesson four from the Cursed Show of Doom: Security People — Yes! Take my battery to prevent me from taking photographs! Please! I hand it over willingly knowning that there is another in my pocket! You are mean, but unknowingly lovely!

Lesson five from the Cursed Show of Doom: Photographers — When you talk the seven-foot-tall security man down from “you can’t come in” to “ok, just give me your battery”, stop arguing. You have won. (I suspect it helps to be a girl, and be as unusually girlie as possible.)

Lesson six from the Cursed Show of Doom: Photographer Ladies — If you haven’t learnt lessons one and three, be prepared to only see thirty seconds of the show. Double back to lesson five and learn it well, because otherwise you get nothing.

Lesson seven from the Cursed Show of Doom: Late People — Run, say “excuse me” repeatedly and hold your forbidden camera aloft (people move for cameras, apparently).

Anyway, after all the kerfuffle everything (music, lighting, chit chat) was quite lovely. At the very end of the evening some tipsy and dressed-up girls were asking me all about “the blond one, who plays guitar, who looks like a surfer”. Blitzen Trapper conquer drunk girls of SoCal! Hurrah!

Between laughing so hard I spilled my whiskey on my shoes, I managed to tell them the story of How I Met Blitzen Trapper, Except They Weren’t Called That Yet, which they of course found fabulously entertaining. It’s quite a quaint tale, that makes me feel rather old. Nineteen was a long while ago.

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This entry was posted on Saturday, November 3rd, 2007 at 11:29 pm. It is filed under music. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.