hatchetforce
01.08.05, 05:54 AM
Requiem for a Heavyweight (or My Liver, My Liver)
Walking down to the show in beautiful Montreal, the architecture of the buildings are so magnificent that they look like frozen music. One building had what looked like a colossal chess set of statuary across its façade. Going 5 star with the old lady at 4:00, so of course, I hit Le Cage Aux Sports at 12:00 noon sharp. Sampling several varieties of brew, I settle in for pints of Rickard’s Red. Meet Wolfgang Slinger and crew. Props to the hardcore MFer who carved the VH rings logo into his goatee!! LOL, you couldn’t tell by looking at him head on, but when he tilted his head back he looked like the cover of F.U.C.K.
5 star, good time at the party and a hearty FU to the asswipe who tried to squirrel-away a twelve pack for himself right before the backstage tour (busted by Hillary). Soundcheck – unbelievable (“I’m the One” –Holy Shit!). Rest of 5 star very cool met very nice people and fellow VH fans.
The show. Front-f’n-dead-center-at-point-front row. Dilemma, there are a bunch of people lined up on the rail in front of me. I ask to see their tickets and they say “zee security garde has zaid zat it eez okay.” As I’m replying “fuck you and fuck France,” my old lady pulls a Henry Kissenger and grabs the little built-like-a-fireplug security guy and he bulldozes these bastards right the hell out. Now I’m on the rail at the point of the stage, I mean I’m so close that you could smell the gunpowder coming out of the Wolfgang. The show was unbelievable, without a doubt the best VH and best overall concert amongst any band that I have ever seen. Being that close you are kinda pulled into the orbit of the band’s gyrations and interactions. You can hear the thunderclap of the landing of a perfectly executed flying Eddie three feet in front of yer beak.
Post show. I had to piss so god-damned bad that I thought I was passing a kidney stone. Right before I say screw it and whip out my hootie-hoo on the Champe de I gotta Friggin Piss, I spot a bar closing, BS our way In, and ask the guy if we could catch Last Call. The very gracious monsieur says “but of course.” In slow motion (like the gun-tossing scene in The Untouchables with the baby carriage, between Kevin Costner and Andy Garcia) I toss my wife a wad of Canadian currency, order a shot and a beer and tuck and tumble into the men’s room for a steaming seven minute whiz.
Postscript. Go back to the hotel. Order gyros. Drain the mini-bar. I mean, I hugged the mini bar and wrung it out like a wash rag, to get every last mother-loving drop out of it. Going to spend the next day with my wife exploring the city (what a beautiful place). Everyone we met was very nice to us. Fellow Linkers (especially Wolfgang Slinger) great to meet you. To me, that is the beauty of The Links – you join an online community of people who share a common interest and then get to meet them in person and build friendships. In closing I would like to offer an extra hearty FU to the num-nutted, stack-of-dimes-you-call-a-neck diplo dunk who had to stand in front of me for awhile. I didn’t mind you standing there (I let a couple of ladies get in front of me near the end of the show because they couldn’t see). But dude, did you have to strike a pose like Mr. Teapot and sharpen your effin left elbow in my ribs? Peace out.
Walking down to the show in beautiful Montreal, the architecture of the buildings are so magnificent that they look like frozen music. One building had what looked like a colossal chess set of statuary across its façade. Going 5 star with the old lady at 4:00, so of course, I hit Le Cage Aux Sports at 12:00 noon sharp. Sampling several varieties of brew, I settle in for pints of Rickard’s Red. Meet Wolfgang Slinger and crew. Props to the hardcore MFer who carved the VH rings logo into his goatee!! LOL, you couldn’t tell by looking at him head on, but when he tilted his head back he looked like the cover of F.U.C.K.
5 star, good time at the party and a hearty FU to the asswipe who tried to squirrel-away a twelve pack for himself right before the backstage tour (busted by Hillary). Soundcheck – unbelievable (“I’m the One” –Holy Shit!). Rest of 5 star very cool met very nice people and fellow VH fans.
The show. Front-f’n-dead-center-at-point-front row. Dilemma, there are a bunch of people lined up on the rail in front of me. I ask to see their tickets and they say “zee security garde has zaid zat it eez okay.” As I’m replying “fuck you and fuck France,” my old lady pulls a Henry Kissenger and grabs the little built-like-a-fireplug security guy and he bulldozes these bastards right the hell out. Now I’m on the rail at the point of the stage, I mean I’m so close that you could smell the gunpowder coming out of the Wolfgang. The show was unbelievable, without a doubt the best VH and best overall concert amongst any band that I have ever seen. Being that close you are kinda pulled into the orbit of the band’s gyrations and interactions. You can hear the thunderclap of the landing of a perfectly executed flying Eddie three feet in front of yer beak.
Post show. I had to piss so god-damned bad that I thought I was passing a kidney stone. Right before I say screw it and whip out my hootie-hoo on the Champe de I gotta Friggin Piss, I spot a bar closing, BS our way In, and ask the guy if we could catch Last Call. The very gracious monsieur says “but of course.” In slow motion (like the gun-tossing scene in The Untouchables with the baby carriage, between Kevin Costner and Andy Garcia) I toss my wife a wad of Canadian currency, order a shot and a beer and tuck and tumble into the men’s room for a steaming seven minute whiz.
Postscript. Go back to the hotel. Order gyros. Drain the mini-bar. I mean, I hugged the mini bar and wrung it out like a wash rag, to get every last mother-loving drop out of it. Going to spend the next day with my wife exploring the city (what a beautiful place). Everyone we met was very nice to us. Fellow Linkers (especially Wolfgang Slinger) great to meet you. To me, that is the beauty of The Links – you join an online community of people who share a common interest and then get to meet them in person and build friendships. In closing I would like to offer an extra hearty FU to the num-nutted, stack-of-dimes-you-call-a-neck diplo dunk who had to stand in front of me for awhile. I didn’t mind you standing there (I let a couple of ladies get in front of me near the end of the show because they couldn’t see). But dude, did you have to strike a pose like Mr. Teapot and sharpen your effin left elbow in my ribs? Peace out.