Herbert had some interesting ideas about travel, because a few times he had us travelling down some godforsaken twisty-turny backroads, and at one point we nearly hit two very young deer.. maybe not babies, but certainly preadolescent deer. There were a few instances of 'Fuck you, Herbert' when he'd tell me to look up ahead three hundred meters, and go straight. Really, Herbert? Was that necessary?
So as it turns out, we had cut it a bit close as when we got there, the second opening band was on their third last song. Between their set and F11's I laughed at some guy behind us trying to convince the chick he was with of how indie he was (like, look at this fucking hipster).. talking about how he doesn't like 'mainstream' music. That mentality pisses me off to no end. The 'OMGZZ THIS BAND MADE MONEY THEY SOOOO SOLD OUT AND NAO I DON'T LIKEEE THEM!!" mentality. I listen to a lot of pretty obscure shit, but the thing is, when a band like the Burning Hell makes it big and can quit their call centre day-jobs, I'm still going to like them if they keep making kick-ass music. Music fans are so fickle.. and stupid (keeping in mind that I'm fully aware that I'm one of them). But that's a rant for another day.
Oh, quick customer service tip.. even though $4.75 is a relatively good price for a mixed drink in a bar, it's no excuse to be skimpy. If you serve someone who discovers that their drink is leaking through a hole in the cheap plastic cup, and a good third of their drink is now on the bar please just pour them a new drink. Don't just toss the remainder in a new cup and hand it back. You can bet your arse that I took my tip back after that scene.
During the break, we travelled out to the vendors so I could add another shirt to the collection. They also had CD's for sale, which I'm glad I didn't buy any since I had forgotten that along with the passes to the show, I also have a complete discography coming in the mail. That would have been a waste. Chatting with the cute T-shirt selling dude, I suggested that they should have been selling copies of Letters from Chutney, since I would have totally picked that one up. This was the CD they put out while still performing under the name Rainbow Butt Monkeys. I guess Finger Eleven was more sellable, and less snicker-inducing. Still, Chutney was a pretty strong album. Cute T-shirt guy informed me that the idea had been brought up, but apparently the album is no longer in print and the label that it was released under isn't even in business anymore.
|Add one to the pile.|
|My Camera = Teh Suck|
So after the last song we headed out to begin the long drive home. Now, going into the bar I had a distinct memory of getting out of the car, and asking T if she needed anything before I locked it. Returning to the car, the first thing I noticed was the interior light on. I wasn't worried because my battery usually lasts quite a while. THEN I noticed the doors unlocked. THEN I saw my KEYS sitting on the seat.
Nothing was touched. We were flabbergasted, first because I had done something so dumb as leaving the keys on the seat of the unlocked car and second because NOT A THING WAS TOUCHED. Hell, the fact that the car was still there at all was pretty impressive in and of itself. All my CD's, All T's CD's and even Herbert were still there.
I am one LUCKY Dumbass. Kudos, Kitchener, for not being populated by car-thieving douchebags. KUDOS TO YOU.
So this may be my last post for a bit, as I'll be MIA for the next week or so. Sunny tropics, here I come.
One last weird random thought I had during the concert. All band members? WEARING PANTS THAT FIT!. Thank you, Finger Eleven, for wearing pants that fucking FIT. I thank you, the world thanks you.
Yeah, ill fitting pants are a *thing* of mine, especially after the age of oh, say, 25. No visible underpants, please. No baggy-assed hood jeans and no emo-fucking-girl pants. Thanks. Grr.