Monday, May 10, 2010

That's all she wrote ...

Much like Christmas, "Homegrown" is a word that I can barely tolerate the taste of in the aftermath. So let's all just take down the lights and box up the tree until what-say February, 2011. It's the so much that I am so much over. But here are a few of my favorite sights, which I will just have to describe:

Friday night we picked up Chuck's Fannie to take him downtown. I did a lane change and caught a glimpse of him in the back seat. Hmm ... I thought. Flesh-toned T'shirt. That's an interesting look. It was only when I was back face forward that I realized that was a hairy flesh-toned T'shirt. I whipped around and found him topless in the back seat. Like he was two zips from hopping into a sauna.

"It's hot in here," he said.


This kicky band at The Main Club that sounded like they would play a Twister party in your basement or a rock opera at 3 a.m. at an underground theater in Northeast Minneapolis.


A rockabilly show starring four dudes in matching workman jumpsuits at Norm's in Superior. The lead singer incorporated PBR into his act; His flashiest dance move was flipping off the audience. He would not, would not, stop playing. No one really wanted him to.


The glam band Bone Appetit's mosh pit, with ladies clamoring to touch Hot Rod Heartthrob's leg. Meanwhile, his mom was sitting on the edge of the stage.


Free trolley rides down Superior street. And up Superior Street.


Seeing the same 30 people every day for a week.


A packed RT Quinlan's that smelled like the beer fart-body odor combo meal. One of my friends looked around and said "I feel like I'm at a senior citizen center." The night devolving into sharpie mustaches and Miller High Life.


Running into my sophomore year Homecoming date, and still eking out a bit of social shame over what I wore to that dance. Think Claire's Boutique brand prostitution: Hot pink suede skirt and a multi-color raw silk shirt. Tucked in. With black nylons and black shoes.


After waiting 15 minutes outside of Pizza Luce deciding: Homegrown. Done with it. Catching a cab for home, the first time in like six years that I haven't seen the final show on the final night.


Feeling good enough to go to brunch at Luce on Sunday morning for Brie French Toast with Rnam, Em, and the Rock Star Amy Abts.

And that is all I choose to remember.


Whiskeymarie said...

I, however, most certainly did NOT feel good enough for brunch the following morning. Ugh.

What happens at Homegrown stays at Homegrown- that's all I'm sayin'...

nanners said...

That constant fart/sweaty pit and ass smell at Quinlan's made me want to puke. People stink.