I’m a little slow in recapping Tuesday night’s show at the Forum because the intense contact high from massive amounts of weed is just wearing off. The scent is to be expected at a concert for a band who derived their name from smoking bud all day but the kids really outdid themselves in their pot consumption for Green Day’s final U.S. tour stop.
The evening got off to a bad start for me. When I purchased the tickets a few months ago, I did so as soon as they went on sale and selected “best available.” The two tickets that popped up appeared to be killer seats just to the side of the stage so I snatched them up but on closer inspection I realized they were actually in the upper section. So I made another attempt and picked up a floor ticket.
Because of my Green Week tour, I was a bit slow about unloading the extra tickets so the night before the show I offered them to my brother and his wife and he turned them down. So in the recent past both my brother and sister have declined Green Day tickets, my mom and aunt said they didn’t even know who they were and my two nephews (age 6 and 8) refuse to even listen to any music that isn’t by AC/DC or Alice Cooper. I’m down to my dad, older brother and 96-year-old grandpa as the only hopes left in my family.
I tried hustling the tickets in the parking lot but I’m a horrible salesperson under the best of circumstances and when doors opened I wanted to get a decent spot on the floor so I let them go for a painfully low price but thanks to the Phoenix tickets I sold, I still came out ahead for the week.
Venues always say no cameras allowed but at the San Diego show the security guys said they didn’t really care about little digital cameras just not the fancy professional ones. To be on the safe side, I tucked my camera into my cleavage and had no problem getting past their pat down, which consisted of a finger slide down the sides of the arms and legs. Since I had a seat at the Phoenix show I didn’t bring the camera but I put it in my familiar spot for the L.A. show. I couldn’t believe it when the security lady pressed her hand between my breasts. I was quite literally busted! With no other reasonable hiding places on my body, I had to make the long haul back to my car and settle for taking pictures with my camera phone instead.
I squeezed into a spot about 15 feet from the stage right next to a couple with their 8-year-old son. I warned them that the surge when Green Day took the stage would be really intense so they needed a little barrier around the boy. When the kid heard I’d been to other shows this week, he asked if they played “She.” “She” is an old song they always play but I was surprised he’d even heard of it. It turned out this wasn’t a situation where the parents dragged the kid to the show but the other way around. Needless to say, I rather liked the kid at that point and signed up for security detail on his behalf.
Just as the drunk bunny finished up his set signaling that the show was about to start, two bitches shoved their way through the crowd, knocking into a bunch of us, including the kid. I yelled, “Hey! Watch it!” and one shot a few insults my way. At that point, a sizable amount of my drink may have accidentally spilled on her. Probably noticing that I was a good four inches taller than her, she moved a few paces away from me and then punched me a couple times on the arm. Then she tried to make a dash through the crowd and somehow some of her long hair got caught in my tight hand grip. I know, I know. It was all stupid and immature and I’m not usually the scrapper type but their shoving really pissed me off, especially where Green Day’s mini fan base was concerned.
My joy over the little tyke waned as I and a couple others really did seem like we were on duty to protect the kid and I was disappointed that he didn’t want to go onstage for a very cool stunt during “East Jesus Nowhere.” Luckily the family hightailed it after about half an hour and I was able to bounce to my heart’s content.
I was actually satisfied being farther back than I was at the San Diego show because I wasn’t crushed against people. But when a group of guys finished moshing leaving a large gap on the floor that wasn’t filled by the people in front of me, I couldn’t resist a little “Excuse me, please” as I passed them to move forward to within a couple feet of the stage. As I mentioned in the San Diego blog, I watched the end of that show from the back of the pit so it was cool to be up close this time around.
One of the coolest moments was when Billie Joe took a stage dive with his guitar into the crowd, a risky move among a pack of rabid fans. Watching the panicked scurrying of the security team as they got him back up within seconds was rather amusing.
The show was again mostly the same. I was disappointed that I never got to hear three of my favorite songs off their new album (“Horseshoes and Handgrenades,” “Viva la Gloria!” and “Peacemaker”) but I was thrilled during the L.A. encore that Billie Joe played an acoustic version of “Macy’s Day Parade,” which I never thought I’d hear live.
But the absolute coolest moment of my whole tour came after the show ended. Billie Joe had just finished “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” which is always the last song so I turned to leave when I noticed a commotion from the crowd. Drummer Tré Cool had run back onstage and threw his drumsticks into the crowd. The insane scramble to grab them left about a dozen of us on our butts. As I stood back up, I saw a drumstick underneath me and snatched it up! It’s even got the groove marks on it (which I stupidly thought were teeth marks at first). As exciting as it was at the moment, I later realized it’s just one more piece of crap that I have no use for but can’t throw away. Maybe someday my nephews will wise up and appreciate Green Day and I’ll pass it on to them after I become that asshole who brings the kiddies to one of their concerts. And I totally would because a Green Day concert is an incredible experience and I would be thrilled to be able to share it with them.
Phoenix was the second stop on my whirlwind Green Week tour. About 30 seconds after I arrived at the venue I ran into one of the guys I’d talked with in line and on the floor at the San Diego show (so I’m not the only Green Day stalker–one woman told me she’d been to 12 Green Day concerts just this summer)! I was immediately embarrassed that I was wearing mostly the same outfit I’d worn to the previous show until I noticed he still had his wristband on, a clear indication that he is way too young for his body to have been pressed so intimately close to mine in the mobbed pit.
As I mentioned before, I sold my floor tickets in lieu of my very first seat at a Green Day concert but it was in the upper section. Before the show started, I walked into the arena and started chatting with Jerry the usher. After a few minutes he asked where my seat was and I pointed up. He suggested I come back just before Green Day took the stage so I headed off to the lounge and tossed back a Dookie, which is probably the worst name ever for a cocktail (though much tastier than the name suggests). I returned to my buddy Jerry who pointed me toward the VIP row with cushy seats, monitors and a table right off the side of the stage– score! With a place to put my purse and drink and plenty of room to dance, I had no complaints about not being crushed on the floor.
The set list was mostly the same as was the timing of the explosions so I didn’t crap myself every time I heard one. The most noticeable difference in the lineup was in the encore. At the San Diego show they played a great song that I didn’t recognize. I looked it up afterward and found out it’s an unreleased song called “Drama Queen” that they’ve only performed a couple of times so it was a treat to get to hear it and I’m glad I shot some video of it (albeit a bit shaky):
At the Phoenix show, one of the encore songs was “Jesus of Suburbia,” a nine minute tune that I love and never thought I’d get to hear live again. Singer Billie Joe picked a guy from the audience to play lead guitar for it and he actually did a good job. Like the three or four other people brought on stage at each show, he ended his rock star fantasy moment with a stage dive into the crowd. I’m sure the people directly in front of center stage weren’t so thrilled were their roles in the fantasies.
With two shows down and one to go, I’m already lamenting the fact that they weren’t spaced farther apart. I feel such inspiration (not to mention, perspiration) after seeing Green Day. They’re brilliant artists who put on a top notch show. Tuesday’s concert at the Forum may be the last time I see them for awhile so I’ll just have to take in every second and ride that post-show high as long as I can.
My Green Week tour kicked off in San Diego last night. I arrived early to find the General Admission Floor line was already about 500 deep. As I took my place at the end, a girl walked up to her friends in front of me and said she’d accidentally bought an extra ticket (idiot count: 1) and “that’s a waste of 50 bucks” (after fees, tickets were 60 bucks. Idiot count: 2). Two seconds later, a guy walked past the line yelling, “Anybody have a ticket? I need a ticket.” She was completely oblivious (idiot count: 3). Since it’s apparently my job to keep track of all the conversations within 20 feet, I butted in and said, “Didn’t I hear you say you have an extra ticket? That guy wants to buy one.” She turned and responded to him and he offered her 30 bucks for her ticket. I couldn’t believe the balls on the guy offering such a ridiculously low amount for a floor ticket. But then she excitedly said, “Sure!” (idiot count: 1 million). I was about to inform her that she could probably get a couple hundred bucks for the ticket but she seemed so pleased with the deal that got her half of what she paid for the ticket that it didn’t seem right to side with the idiot over the lucky bastard.
Despite the long line, I had no problem finding a place on the floor within several feet of the stage but I had to commit to it through the one hour before opening band Franz Ferdinand took the stage and the other hour until Green Day finally came out. Soon after they started I was able to move even closer as parents in front of me tried to escape the mob scene with their small children because I guess there was no way for them to predict that would be a really really bad situation for kids.
I was even closer to the stage than I’d been for the Wiltern show four years agobut being a stadium performance, this had the hot blasts from pyrotechnics combined with greater crowding to leave me drenched in sweat. I got a little respite when singer Billie Joe Armstrong sprayed the crowd with a monstrous water gun but then some big guys started slam dancing and after two hours I couldn’t take it anymore and had to escape for a little air. I missed a couple songs and when I returned had to take a spot at the back of the pit, which was still only about 30 feet from the stage but it seemed like a mile considering I’d been close enough to read Billie Joe’s tattoos a little while earlier.
All in all, it was another fabulous Green Day concert– lots of special effects, crowd work and great music. They played about six songs from their new album (though not my favorite, “Viva la Gloria!”), about five from “American Idiot” and a few songs from each of their other albums for a performance that lasted almost three hours. Tomorrow night is the Phoenix show where I have a reserved seat and even though I’ll be a lot farther from the stage, my legs and sweat glands will probably appreciate it.
Anybody who knows me well knows I love Green Day. Except my mom, who recently said she’d never heard of them (even though she claims to read my blog) and when I played a couple of their most famous tunes on my phone, she just shrugged. So now I’m left wondering if I should even have someone like that in my life. But I digress.
I like Green Day so much that a day just isn’t enough. I need a Green Week, which I’m about to have as I hit up their concerts in three cities. The first stop is San Diego then I’ll go directly to Phoenix where my sister’s family lives. I had offered to take her to the concert there but being the weasel that she is, she waited until after I bought the tickets before telling me she’d be in Vegas over the weekend and “Oh, since you’ll be here, can you watch the kids?” Sure, I’ll watch the kids and I’ll have them cursing like sailors by the end of my stay. To make it worse, I told her Green Day would be in Vegas while she’s there and she suggested she might go but of course I can’t join her because I’ll be watching her kids.
I can’t complain, though, because it actually turned out better this way. Because she canceled, I decided to buy a seat for myself and sold the two floor tickets for just enough to cover my tickets at all three concerts so it’s all good.
The final stop will be here in L.A. at the Forum for which I’m waffling between the seat and floor tickets I have. Clearly I was very excited and indecisive when tickets went on sale but based on how well the Phoenix tickets sold, I’m thinking all these tickets were a wise investment in this economy.
Since Green Day were the inspiration for me starting this blog almost four years ago and many of my early posts were about them, I’m hoping they’ll work their magic again and I’ll be back to regular blogging. In the meantime, let my 21st Century Breakdown commence!
I’m pretty buzzed right now so excuse me if I ramble on and make a bunch of typos. But I really am more depressed than I’ve been in a long time so I did a few shots of Jaeger. In my early 20′s I used to do about five shots of Jaeger just to get the night started but it’s been several years since I’ve done even one. I have to admit I gagged doing them tonight. Guess I’m out of practice. And no, the depression is not because Lost had its season finale and it will be nine months until there’s a new episode. I’m actually trying to hold off on watching the finale as long as humanly possible (which will probably only be another 15 minutes).
In order to explain my depression I have to first make a confession: I attended the American Idol finale. In fact, I’ve attended every AI finale except the Ruben/Clay showdown. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve bartended at the last five Academy Awards ceremonies, all of which have been held at the Kodak Theatre- like the American Idol finales. The way it works at the Kodak is there is an online availability system, so basically, if there’s an event I want to attend I can just sign myself up as available.
As I’ve also mentioned, the reason I ever even started to watch AI is because one of my weekly poker buddies co-hosted the show the first season. And toward the end of it, he started sending me the scripts to do punchups on them (he was given some seriously ghastly lines). I didn’t make any major rewrites, just your basic punchup stuff. So it was actually somewhat amusing to me that I’d contributed to the number one tv show in America, but the only way I could attend the finale was as a bartender. But I did. On a side note, I’d told my friend that I’d be at the finale and that I’d try to find him. I couldn’t locate him so I slid a note under his dressing room door. I wrote something like, “You’re so cute and you’re a much better host than Ryan. You’re the greatest! All my love, Becca. P.S.- Nobody plays Network Executive like you do.” Becca was some girl on the American Idol forum who was totally obsessed with my friend. But Network Executive was the name of a goofy poker game we used to play. So I thought he would know the note was a joke from me. He didn’t. The next time I saw him I asked if he got my note. He said, “That was from YOU? I seriously thought Becca was stalking me.” When a comic causes such unnecessary stress to a regular person then the comic apologizes. When a comic does such a thing to another comic, then the comic laughs his (or in this case, MY) ass off.
Fast forward. The reason I didn’t admit that I’ve attended the AI finales is that I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that I even watch the show, I don’t want to seem like some crazed fan because I’m really more of an unhappy addict. Honestly, I’ve never called in to vote for any of the contestants. Ok, that’s a lie. I did call and vote for Kelly Clarkson in the finals. And I hit redial twice. Then I realized how insignificant my three measly votes were and decided that was stupid. Apparently I forgot about how insignificant my votes were two years later as I once again called to vote for Fantasia. Just one vote though, because I remembered she was competing against Diana DeWhocares and she would do just fine without my votes. That’s the last time I voted. I swear. Not even for Chris Daughtry.
Whereas bartending at the Oscars is actual work, bartending for AI isn’t. I go in for three or four hours and for only an hour I do what could barely be considered labor. I pre-pour about 100 complimentary sodas from- who else?- Coke. Then I server a bunch of cocktails to celebrities who are only there in the hopes of getting two seconds of face time before 30 million viewers. Like the Oscars, we’re supposed to shut down 15 minutes before the show starts but with AI, there’s a little more leeway for serving the latecomers I want to siphon money from (like Teri Hatcher) while seconds later refusing those I’m hoping will throw a tantrum (like David Hasselhoff- I didn’t even ask what he wanted before telling him “no.” He came back later for a Diet Coke, which I now realize I should have spiked just for entertainment’s sake). Afterwards I can go in and watch as much of the show as I want. I mention all this to make it clear that I’m not putting in a ton of effort just so I can go to the stupid AI finale. It’s just hard to pass up a show that’s right around the corner for which I can actually get paid to be at. Comprende?
My American Idol finale presence miserably explained, on to the depression part. While breaking down the bar I caught some of the notable performances on the lobby tv, such as from Gwen Stefani, Gladys Knight and Smokey Robinson. I told the other bartender I didn’t really care to go in and see any of them. The only performers I’d rush in for would be Green Day and there’s no way they’d be on a show like this. I added that American Idol always features solo artists rather than bands anyway.
Not ten minutes later I heard Ryan introduce Green Day.
Anybody whose read my blog for any length of time should know I really like Green Day. It borders on the creepy way that a lot of people like American Idol. In fact, Green Day was indirectly responsible for me even starting this blog and my first post was about them. I’ve been waiting over two years for a new album and tour but have had to settle for just one televised performance from them in the last year (with U2 at the re-opening of the Louisiana Superdome last September). And their next scheduled appearance is in the “Simpsons” film. In animation. Not the same thing.
As soon as Ryan uttered the word “Green” I bolted. The last time I moved that fast was probably at the Green Day concert at the Wiltern when Billie Joe invited more people to come down to the pit. Nothing lights a fire under me more than Green Day does. I entered the door in the orchestra section so I’d be right next to the stage. But I couldn’t see the band. There was a scaffolding blocking my view somewhat so I moved around a little bit. Still couldn’t see them. Then a security guard who had witnessed my mad dash to the theatre came in and told me that Green Day had taped their performance just before the show. A two-hour live finale and the only two taped segments were the Ford video and Green Day’s performance. Unfuckingbelievable. So then I asked what time they taped their set. The guy told me it was around 3:30, just about the time I came in for the day. That’s when I almost lost consciousness. After arriving, I had entered the theatre for a little while to check out the rehearsals and saw the performances of Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood, massive curlers in their hair and all. But apparently, for some “let’s fuck Jenée” reason, when I went to set up the bar, the feed to the theatre was turned off ONLY for the taping of the Green Day segment. I was fifty feet away from having a semi-private Green Day performance and didn’t even know it. I could have ambushed them at their dressing rooms but I didn’t even know they were in the building. Why is life so cruel?
After the show, I exited through the backstage area and passed all the idol contestants, including Jordin and Blake. I wanted to hug Blake and tell him I understood the disappointment he was feeling because I was feeling a disappointment of a similar kind. (Admittedly, when it comes to Green Day, my perspective on things may be a bit skewed).
Now for some weird little coincidences in the situation… Earlier in the afternoon one of the bartenders reminded me that I had sung the praises of Green Day’s “American Idiot” album a while back and had promised to burn copy of it for him to check out. I had made him the cd but then I didn’t see him for a long time and completely forgot about it. When he mentioned it, it occurred to me that I might still have the disc in my bag, which I did and gave it to him. I made the disc about a year and a half ago and I’ve seen him several times since yet he happened to pick today to bring it up and chat a bit about the band.
The second coincidence is that on the way to the Wiltern Theatre show in October ’05, my tire blew out on the freeway. Last night, I started to pull out of my parking space and discovered one of my tires was suddenly completely flat. Two flats in my entire life and both were right before opportunities to see Green Day. I’m getting all new tires tomorrow but I swear, the next time I get a flat, the very first thing I’m doing is checking on the whereabouts of Green Day.
*UPDATE A FEW HOURS LATER*- My major disappointment in missing Green Day’s set is because they’re such amazing performers. I just saw their set on the show and they did nothing. I mean, they barely even moved. So that makes me feel much better that I didn’t miss much and you should be happy to know the razor blades have been returned to their proper locations.
I always begin my sleep with a nice little fantasy. I mention this because I learned a couple years ago that not everybody does so. Some people put their head on the pillow and think about their day or what they have to do the next day. That seems like a lousy way to spend your downtime. I don’t know if there’s a correlation, but from the people I’ve discussed this with, the ones who start with a fantasy seem to be better sleepers. It’s something for you restless worrywarts to consider.
So I have a catalog of fantasies that I rotate. The usual stuff: career goals, wild adventures and of course romance are a few. For a long time my stud of choice was John F. Kennedy Jr. but after he died I tried it a few times and it just seemed creepy. Some might think that dreaming about any celebrity (dead or alive) is creepy but it’s easy since the face and personna have already been established so I don’t have to create a backstory. Why don’t I dream about guys I actually know? Because I don’t know any that are dream-worthy. It should come as no surprise that after John John I moved on to George Clooney. I actually have a fun one with him where we’re the only two survivors of a plane crash and land on a Lost-type island with a fully stocked hatch. And of course he falls madly in love with me. That should tell you the level of my self-esteem when even in my fantasies I know the only way I could nab Clooney is if I’m the only woman available. But other men occasionally make guest appearances in my dreams. For a brief time last fall, I even had a dream-fling with Billie Joe Armstrong (lead singer of Green Day), all 5’8″ of him- tattoos, eyeliner, snaggletooth and all. But I usually stick to the pretty boys like Antonio Sabato Jr. and Ricky Martin, who pop in on occasion (and in my dreams, Ricky’s definitely straight).
Then there’s the financial windfall dream. It used to be a result of hitting the jackpot on Megabucks (which would be hard to do because I never even play that slot) but now it’s a little closer to home through winning the World Series of Poker, which last week made one guy $12 million richer. In that fantasy, the pivotal moment comes when I’m in second chip position to Dan Harrington. He makes a preflop raise and I reraise with my pocket kings. He then goes all in and I’m faced with a dilemma: anybody else, I’d call immediately but the tightest player in poker just went all in against the only person who can really do his stack any damage. But how can I lay down kings??? After a long delay and a promise that he better not think he can bully me again, I fold my kings face up and he shows me pocket aces. The crowd goes wild at my stellar read and tremendous restraint in folding (not realizing it’s just because I’m chickenshit and pocket kings always seem to get me knocked out of tourneys). Somewhere along the way, Harrington is gone and I’m head-to-head with Phil Ivey. I BEG him to split the prize money and even tell him he can have the title and bracelet but he refuses. Then I kick his ass and win the $15 million (it was $12 million this year but I expect it to be $15 million when I win it). I play the good sport but inside I’m thinking, “THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for not taking my offer, Ivey! Woohoo!” Then the dorky announcer Norm Chad (a guy I’ve actually played with in home games) asks me what I’m going to do with the money and I tell him I’m going to take it all to the craps table and put it on Big 6 or Big 8. My friend Courtney laughs hysterically but nobody else gets it and thinks I’m a moron for placing the worst bet in the house. Then Phil “The Unabomber” Laak is so impressed with me he dumps Jennifer Tilly and he and I ride off into the poker sunset (ok, that’s not in the dream but I do think we’d make a good couple. Maybe I’ll add him to the lineup).
So now I have $15 million dollars. I don’t need that much so I decide to give a lot of it away (because that’s how I roll ;) ). And this is where my dream takes a major downward spiral. I should be thinking about fabulous vacations on enormous yachts or sunning by the pool at my spectacular mansion while Pedro (my cabana boy) brings me pina coladas and sprays me with mist whenever he makes me too hot. I mean, whenever the sun makes me too hot. But instead I’ve got checks for $1 million dollars to give to each of my family members and suddenly I’m trying to figure out taxes and deductions through charitable donations. I actually work all that stuff out in my dream! If there are two things that don’t belong in fantasies, they’re children and math. I guess feces would be another. But I find myself doing this more and more. Even the romance dreams have gone downhill while I work out details like getting the guy out of his marriage and somehow eliminating any pesky offspring from that marriage. Or I’m trying to figure out exactly how Clooney and I managed to be the only survivors of the plane crash (plane goes down remarkably slowly in water. Apparently Clooney’s at the back of first class while I’m at the front of coach and we both lunge for the emergency exit. We grab the rope to an automatically inflating raft that’s on a plane for some unknown reason- sometimes I have to fudge reality a bit- and it yanks us up to the surface while everybody else plummets to their deaths. Bummer for them for not reacting faster).
I still like dream time but boy do I miss the days of my youth when I could go straight to the good stuff.
When I heard the little ones chose Green Day for top Kids Choice Awards, I thought, “Those kids have great taste.” But that taste was called into question by another favorite of theirs, Lindsay Lohan. Now comes this photo of Lohan at the awards ceremony and it sheds a bit of light on their selection: What six-year-old doesn’t like a nice piece of ass?
Let’s all call the FCC and complain about this “wardrobe malfunction.” We have to get this garbage off the airwaves- there could be children watching. Oh wait…
(This is my 100th post in “People are Idiots.” I think showcasing a major ass is apropos for the milestone).
I thought some of the regular readers might want updates on past blogs…
Arrested Development: The word today is that ABC and Showtime are interested in buying the show (if Fox ever officially cancels it). There IS hope!!!
Kazakhstani journalist Borat Sagdiyev: After the country of Kaz threatened to sue Sascha Baron Cohen (Da Ali G Show), he posted the following statements on his Borat character’s website:
I like to state I have no connection with Mr. Cohen and fully support my government’s decision to sue this Jew.
Since the 2003 reforms, Kazakhstan is as civilized as any other country in the world. Women can now travel on inside of bus, homosexuals no longer have to wear blue hats and age of consent has been raised to 8 years old.
Please, captain of industry, I invite you to come to Kazakhstan, where we have incredible natural resources, hard-working labor and some of the cleanest prostitutes in all of central Asia. Goodbye.”
Kaz has retaliated by shutting down his .kz website address. I think I’m falling in love with Cohen and I want to thank the Kaz government for all the publicity that will surely make his upcoming Borat movie a huge success.
The disappearing mole: It appears to be growing back, but it’s about an inch to the left. What the hell’s going on????
Stanley “Tookie” Williams executed: Now maybe all those celebrities can use their free time to help people who haven’t murdered anybody.
I have 3 friends on MySpace: I just checked in on my MySpace page and a guy I barely know asked me to be on his friends list. The only way he could have found me was by sifting through Doug’s 6500 friends. How could I say “no” after all that trouble? Oh, and Green Day finally accepted me. I know I said I’d remove them but that’s the sort of thing one says when they think they’ve been rejected.
New musical obsession: Well, it’s a new musical interest anyway. But the fact that I haven’t heard one Green Day song in over a week should please anybody who’s concerned about me. Last week I watched Saturday Night Live for the first time in ages because a comic I know (Dane Cook) was hosting. It’s a huge accomplishment to achieve this level of success because of his standup and not because he’s a big movie or tv star. Anyway, his monologue was great but the rest of the show was horribly unfunny (the writers should be embarrassed).
I was fast forwarding through the musical guest I’d never heard of (James Blunt) and there was something about his expressions, even in high speed, that made me want to hear a few notes. I liked him instantly. He had this really interesting sound and performed the sort of ballads that make you want to write the movie scene around the song. I’ve been enjoying his album “Back to Bedlam” ever since. The way I’d been rocking out to “St. Jimmy” lately, other LA drivers should thank Mr. Blunt for my musical switch.
I discovered something interesting about him: I checked out his website to see if he was going to be performing in LA (missed him at the Wiltern in November) and in his bio I read that he was a captain in the British army and was stationed in Pristina, Kosovo at the same time I performed there (all the other bases I worked were US military but Pristina is NATO). Makes me wonder if he saw me perform and wrote the song “You’re Beautiful” for me (hee hee…and I really and truly believe Green Day are my friends).
Profanity hang ups: I was speaking with a customer service rep. the other day when she said, “You will have to keep this conversation professional or I’ll discontinue the call.”
I wasn’t yelling or anything so I had to ask, “What exactly hasn’t been professional?”
She said, “Your use of profanity.”
“You mean the word ‘jackass’?” I asked.
She told me that if I said it again she’d hang up on me. I would understand if I’d called her a jackass, but what I said was that “I look like a jackass” because of a policy of theirs that isn’t published on their website. Regardless, who considers “jackass” to be profanity anyway? All the really bad words can be identified by their first letter and I’ve never heard anybody refer to “the j word.”
I suddenly switched from jackass mode to smartass mode. “You gotta be kidding me.” She had an accent so I asked, “What country are you in that I can’t say that word?”
“I’m in Florida.” Of course. They’re ALL in Florida these days.
I responded, “If I’m not allowed to use words that the FCC has determined to be permissible on the public airwaves, how am I supposed to know what words I’m allowed to use with you? Is there a list on your website where I can find what words are and aren’t acceptable?”
She hung up.
Ninety percent of the calls I make to companies are preceded with the message, “This call may be recorded for quality control purposes.” Naturally, this wasn’t one of them. I called back hoping to get her again because this time I wanted to call HER a jackass but I got someone else. I started to explain the situation to the next rep. but she too threatened to hang up.
What can I say? People are idiots.