Friday, April 3, 2009

The Boring Jonestown Massacre

What I'm Listening To: Race for the Prize by the Flaming Lips

Do you think I'm cool? I mean, what is cool anymore anyway? When you're 38 years old, cool isn't so cool anymore. By the way, I just want to mention that I really don't like the Simpsons, but I thought this picture of the Brian Jonestown Massacre band was kinda funny.

Last Friday Jim and I tried to be cool. I saw online that the BJM was coming to Turner Hall. Now, I saw that movie DiG!. It was interesting, and sparked my desire to see this famed Anton up close. Read the link...and see the movie. It's pretty weird. So I went ahead and bought tickets for me, Jim and Layla, and started the countdown to cool. Because, let's face it, only the COOL people would be at this show. And I am still cool, gosh darn it! My mom said so!!

So Layla bailed because she's been sick for like a month, and she's still Chokey McCoughs-a-lot, so Jim and I were on our own. I started getting ready like 2 hours before the show. And realized that I have NOTHING TO WEAR to a cool kids concert. Oh, sorry, the cool kids call it a show, not a concert. Concert is geezer language, people. I'm like standing there in front of my closet for like a half hour, and I'm perplexed. There's NOTHING cool there. I mean, either my clothes are too clubby (read: too much titty or too sparkly) or too work-like (read: super boring cardigan and super boring pants) or too sloppy (read: I wear this to go to the Pick n' Save, and even though I look like a supermodel compared to the rest of West Aliens in their PJ's and slippers, it's still sloppy to me). So I am concerned.

Finally, I pick out a purple polyester knit top and a pair of jeans, and throw a nice cashmere cardigan over the whole thing, and slip on my ballet slippers and here you go. Not too "oh god who's the poser old lady?" and not too "Uh, Notte and Suite are on the OTHER side of the block". Jim looked adorable in a nice button-down striped shirt. I hate men's clothes. Men are so lucky -- everything's so easy for them. Whatever.

We drive to Turner Hall, and because I have no problem with a healthy hike, we park like 4 blocks away. No kidding. We get to the show, walk up the stairs to the venue, show our tickets and get sucked into the throbbing masses of hipsters that have crowded into the room.

Hipsters. I am scared. Here's my synopsis of some of the more obvious types of hipster in the room:
  • Bearded weird young guy: What is with the huge full beard phenomenon?? Uh, people, Joaquin Phoenix is freakin' crazy! Imitating him by growing a disgusting bushy black beard (can blond guys even grow beards??) makes you look even crazier, if that's possible. Good luck with that.
  • Cutesy little pixie girl, age=way too young: These types are a given at any hipster show. They are cuter than you, they are younger than you, and they can get away with wearing a ballet tutu and pigtails while you glare at them over the edge of your Miller Lite. Get over yourself, you little bitches. You're gonna get old too, no kidding!
  • Huge Fat Dude: Oh, shut up. You know I'm right. These guys are always there. They always wear the same thing -- a zip-up hoodie, or a flannel, or a huge t-shirt. And they are NEVER cute like Seth Rogen. They look like Captain Lou Albano and they smell slightly stale. Oh well.
  • Sexy Rockabilly Throwback Boy: Since this is Milwaukee, and we're somewhat close to Detroit, the guys here seem to think that Rockabilly never died, and that wearing your hair in a pseudo-pompadour and strutting around in your poplin windbreaker like a dimestore James Dean is still cool. Let me let you in on a secret, sexy boy. You may be super hot, but you are boring because I don't care about how my car works, only that it does work. Period. Go grease someone else's fanbelt for a change.
  • Princess Snotty Bitch: This is what I call that chick who gave me a once-over while I was coming out of the bathroom. Hey girlie? Don't try to play like you only wear resale or vintage before 1952 and that you've never stepped foot in a Target before. Because, pssst, I saw you buying those earrings at Walmart, so suck on that, 'kay?

That's all I can think of for now. Hey, if you know any more, send them my way. I'm always happy to add to my lexicon of Milwaukee hipster scene cliches.

At this point you're like, who cares about the lame scene, how was the band? Well, let me tell you, I was kinda disappointed. Oh, it was no fault of BJM. They were fine, that is, as much as I heard their slightly boring show. Because there were NO CHAIRS to sit on, Mee-mawmaw (that would be yours truly) and Pee-Paw (that would be Jim) had to STAND UP through the whole thing. Oh, the horrors, I tell you!! Even after three Spotted Cows (yes, I drank beer. It was under duress, I swear!) my knees and feet still hurt, and this particular granny wanted to sit down super bad! Jeez. So I begged this lady to lend me her chair (one of the three chairs available at Turner Hall, seriously!) while she stood up and bopped along to the drone of the band.

Yeah, even with the chair, I was bored. So we left like after a half hour. No kidding. We're a tough crowd, that's for sure. We went downstairs, bummed a cigarette off this guy at the bar, and then drove home and went to bed. Whoohoo, a night out with the Senility Twins! Join us! Next week we're gonna mix some vodka in with our wheat germ and prune juice smoothies...you don't wanna miss it!

Did I tell you that we're still cool, though? Yes, even though I wasn't wearing skinny jeans or a ballet tutu, and Jim didn't have a bushy beard with a tiny bird in it, I still felt that the Reagans were two cool individuals. This may not be true, since an old friend once said to me, if you're cool, you don't announce it. But hey, we're all cool, people. Some of us, however, don't need to be reminded by going to dull shows. :)

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