05 June 2005

I've Made a Discovery

My acumen about music venues is, I've decided, unmatched. And here's what I've discovered:

Madeleine Peyroux should stick to small, indoor venues. Kevin and I went to see her on the Volkswagen Stage at the Three Rivers Arts Festival this evening, and Madeleine's sound -- which I absolutely love -- doesn't translate terribly well to an outdoor stage. So much of her charm is intimate, and her voice so delicate that she needs to be in a smaller venue. Though, of course, her record company can't make that much money out of a smaller venue, so of course they'll continue to push into larger and larger venues. I would love to see her at Club Cafe. Or, at the largest, perhaps The Byham Theater.

But, despite my music acumen and demonstrable genius, "They" don't listen to me. Go figure.

Kevin dropped me off at my car and I had to use a restroom rather madly, so I grabbed my bag and hot-footed it over to Tuscany, thinking I'd check my e-mail and maybe post a blog entry while I enjoyed a nice glass of wine. After, that is, "dropping a deuce," as he would so delicately put it.

Once, a long, long time ago, I wrote about this annoying straight couple that was sidled up to the bar at Tuscany -- it being a sort of "everybody's welcome" kinda place. I believe I went on at some length about how much I'd have like to have taken a baseball bat to the head of the obnoxious breeders.

Well, they're back.

Not, actually, the same couple, but there's another one and they're every bit as loud and ugly as the first set. Not physically, mind you, but: They're really loud. They're really white trash. And they're way too fond of listening to their own fucking obnoxious bile.

But, look: The world is chock full of these people and we have to put up with them on a daily basis, everywhere we go. The reason I feel the need to mention these particular obnoxious people is that they inspired a phenomenon in me that doesn't actually happen very often: The violence fantasy.

It's like this: I imagine getting into a heated argument with these folk, and they start something physical (of course it's them who starts the physical violence... I can't be the bad guy in my own fantasy!), at which point I whip out everything I've ever learned in a bar fight or street altercation (I know it's frankly shocking and laughable to the people who know me that I might actually have had experiences with either of these things, but I actually have) and lay waste to the Offending Parties.

Two things...

First, I'm amazed at the sensation of bloodlust that comes over me when these fantasies are playing out in my head. I actually end up with clouded vision (if the joint weren't so dark, I'd swear there was a red film over my vision, just like in bad novels!).

Second, the Offending Parties never get a punch in before they've had their asses kicked.

And that, my friends, is why (a) they're called violent "fantasies," and (b) they're just plain stupid.

It's pretty much a given that if I ever decided to talk smack to obnoxious breeders, I'd end up in a hospital.

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