Literally, literary punk
I was feeling superior because I was a plus one on “the list” to see a punk rock show Sunday night.
I traveled from Valencia County with a colleague, Jeana, who is more of a metal fan but who has recently branched out into the punk rock. She had interviewed the drummer and the record company gave her a photo pass to go snaps some shots.
Jeana hurt her ankle and I was having one of those “can’t go outside; something unimaginably horrible will happen to me” days, so both of us had to psyche ourselves up all day. It was a big deal that we managed to scrape ourselves together and brave the flooded highways.
By the way, Jeana has a grandkid. I have been to one other punk show with her and it upped the punkrockicity of the entire affair, going with a grandmother. You can’t buy a metal grandma at Hot Topic. (This is where I apologize for making reference to a woman’s age. Sorry, Jeana; it was necessary.)
One can only imagine our infinite chagrin when we found out we weren’t, in fact, on “the list.” $15 was out of the price range for two broke reporters. Curses.
Rather than rage at the doorman, ala “Knocked Up,” we retreated to a local, corporate donut shop for bad espresso and worse pastry.
As we plotted our next move, Jeana told me she just interviewed an up and coming metal band and hit them with the “What’s the craziest thing that has happened to you on the road?” question.
She said the band was traveling down the highway in, I believe Wisconsin, when they passed a Wal-Mart. In the parking lot were three buses from the VHI show, Rock of Love” Fans of Brett Michaels, the band decided to knock on the door and say hi. They were, of course, rudely rebuffed by a security guard.
Rather than take it lying down, they returned to their tour van, retrieved a stack of fliers, and taped over all the windows on the bus. Revenge.
Jeana told me she couldn’t figure out a way to work this into the story. I told her this was an extremely metal moment, nay, a punk moment. It had to go in. She said she would work on it.
Though I never got to go to the show, this was pretty awesome—sitting in a bad donut shop in the rain, talking about Bret Michaels and rock writing in general. A truly punk rock moment. Or at least a literary one.