Friday, February 06, 2004
So, there I was, waiting in Santa Monica to meet the one and only Mike Judge. I wasn't really sure why I was there. I was only sure about getting lunch for free, seeing my pal Rick whom I don't get to see much anymore, and that some time that afternoon, I get to meet Mike Judge. Mike Judge, creator of Beavis and Butthead. Mike Judge, creator of King Of The Hill. Mike Judge, the genius behind the genius that is Office Space.
But this isn't about Mike Judge. This is about Elvis Costello.
So, I'm sitting there basically twiddling my thumbs, when my phone rings. I look at it and don't recognize the number, but I answer it anyway (as it is against my policy to do so). It's a friend of mine whom I haven't spoken to or seen in close to a year. She relates to me how she remembers that I'm an Elvis Costello fan (how she would remember this, I have no clue), and further relates that she's getting tickets for the show that evening (which I was unable to get tickets to just days ago). This show was in the back of my mind ever since I got juked out of tickets so hearing this news was spectacular. Okay, so, to make a long story less long, I got tickets to see the show. 4 tickets. 4 VIP tickets. To see the greatest singer/songwriter of the last 20 years.
It was clear that the time I spent waiting to meet Mike Judge turned into time spent waiting to see Elvis Costello.
As my girlfriend and I drove to the vicinity of the House of Blues, it became quite apparent that this was the hot ticket in town. The venue was shrouded in white cloth and lit up like a blue lava lamp. We entered the place like royalty. After some drinks, we ventured over to the balcony (after my girl figured out we could actually get on the balcony because we were VIPs now suddenly for no reason) where the stars were. I don't need to drop any names, but this was basically where the beautiful people see shows.
I started to feel ill at this point, the early day, the driving, the waiting, the more-driving, the food, the drink, the heat of the balcony: all catching up with me. Still, the music was glorious, and the song line-up was just fucking magic:
I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW
DOLL REVOLUTION
EVERYDAY I WRITE THE BOOK
BEYOND BELIEF/WAITING TIL END OF THE WORLD
RADIO RADIO
CLUBLAND
CLOWN STRIKE
CHELSEA/45/LESS THAN ZERO
HONEY, ARE YOU STRAIGHT OR ARE YOU BLIND?
WATCHING THE DETECTIVES
DUST
JUST ABOUT GLAD/ALISON
MAN OUT OF TIME
EITHER SIDE OF THE SAME TOWN /DARK END OF THE STREET
UNCOMPLICATED
DEEP DARK TRUTHFUL MIRROR
PUMP IT UP/SCARLET TIDE/P.L.U.
So there it was. An uneven day perfected by perfection.
Then we drove home and I puked my guts up and out for the next 5 hours.
My aim was true.
But this isn't about Mike Judge. This is about Elvis Costello.
So, I'm sitting there basically twiddling my thumbs, when my phone rings. I look at it and don't recognize the number, but I answer it anyway (as it is against my policy to do so). It's a friend of mine whom I haven't spoken to or seen in close to a year. She relates to me how she remembers that I'm an Elvis Costello fan (how she would remember this, I have no clue), and further relates that she's getting tickets for the show that evening (which I was unable to get tickets to just days ago). This show was in the back of my mind ever since I got juked out of tickets so hearing this news was spectacular. Okay, so, to make a long story less long, I got tickets to see the show. 4 tickets. 4 VIP tickets. To see the greatest singer/songwriter of the last 20 years.
It was clear that the time I spent waiting to meet Mike Judge turned into time spent waiting to see Elvis Costello.
As my girlfriend and I drove to the vicinity of the House of Blues, it became quite apparent that this was the hot ticket in town. The venue was shrouded in white cloth and lit up like a blue lava lamp. We entered the place like royalty. After some drinks, we ventured over to the balcony (after my girl figured out we could actually get on the balcony because we were VIPs now suddenly for no reason) where the stars were. I don't need to drop any names, but this was basically where the beautiful people see shows.
I started to feel ill at this point, the early day, the driving, the waiting, the more-driving, the food, the drink, the heat of the balcony: all catching up with me. Still, the music was glorious, and the song line-up was just fucking magic:
I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW
DOLL REVOLUTION
EVERYDAY I WRITE THE BOOK
BEYOND BELIEF/WAITING TIL END OF THE WORLD
RADIO RADIO
CLUBLAND
CLOWN STRIKE
CHELSEA/45/LESS THAN ZERO
HONEY, ARE YOU STRAIGHT OR ARE YOU BLIND?
WATCHING THE DETECTIVES
DUST
JUST ABOUT GLAD/ALISON
MAN OUT OF TIME
EITHER SIDE OF THE SAME TOWN /DARK END OF THE STREET
UNCOMPLICATED
DEEP DARK TRUTHFUL MIRROR
PUMP IT UP/SCARLET TIDE/P.L.U.
So there it was. An uneven day perfected by perfection.
Then we drove home and I puked my guts up and out for the next 5 hours.
My aim was true.
