If I had Known, I Would Have Brought Better Stuff to the Movie Theater

I suppose I should start with the last concert I went to alone . . . to explain why I missed Ministry last night.

His Name is Alive was playing at the Magic Stick. "Late Show" it said on the internet listing, with the time listed at 10 p.m. . . . doors at 8 p.m. was the last part of the blurb. Hmmm, His Name is Alive was big when I was in college. I didn't hate them, but wasn't super in to them either. But, chances are, no one over the age of 30 has even heard of them . . . seemed like a good place to meet people or see people that I hadn't seen in a while. The guy's from Livonia, the quirky scene on the west side wasn't that big.

I don't want to see the opening band, so I show up at 9:30 . . . giving the opening band time to set up and be halfway through their set. Pay for parking, smile at the parking guy, walk through the bowling alley and practically run into the bouncer/doorguy. He pays little attention to me, so I start walking upstairs . . . "hey wait" bouncer points at handwritten sign, "doors at 10."

"Ten?" I start to argue but catch myself. It does me no good to annoy the door guy about how the web said 8 p.m. I've already paid for parking . . . so I go check to see if C-Pop is open (it's not). I decide to walk around the old neighborhood to see what they have done with the place. Same guys that need a $1.50 at the party store on Woodward. Avalon is still open (good for them!). A guy at the VA told me to "shake it, baby" repeatedly as I walked past him. The townhouse looks the same . . . they replaced the basement windows with glass block and the current tenant bought wood blinds and is evidently using the third floor (I just ignored the third floor, or painted it awful colors). The Tomboy has new signs about police orders. Still two people smoking "something" behind the dumpster. Had someone follow me back to Woodward (I'm sure he was just walking too) . . . and somehow got a bee in my hair.

All that took about ten minutes . . . leaving me twenty minutes to stand outside the Majestic and call people at random to tell them how bored I was.

Finally, I can go in and sit around until the opening band sets up. They have audio problems . . . so an hour of "check . . . check" and then fiddling . . . and more "check . . . check" until I give myself an ultimatum . . . five more minutes and I'm out. I don't care that I'm into this for $14 dollars, I'll just be out of here in five. Three minutes later and Nomo takes the stage. And they are pretty good. If marching band geeks started a rhythm band, it would sound like Nomo. Very little singing (good), lots of horns (good) . . . but you would really have to be a former band geek to appreciate them (but I am a former band geek).

I still have talked to no one, except the bartender and the door man.

Nomo finishes. I see a girl that I vaguely knew in high school . . . talking to the His Name is Alive guy . . . but it couldn't be her because she is wearing exactly the same clothes that she wore in high school. And then she pulls out two Red Stripe from her purse and hands her boyfriend an opener . . . she's carrying beer in her purse, like I carry candy to a movie theater? Do people do that? When they're in their 30's? And do you want to go up and say "hello" to those people?

When His Name is Alive finally set up . . . I got a better look at the woman and I'm pretty sure I went to high school with her and that my friend Stu had a huge crush on her. I got to the third song of the set and realized that I didn't really like His Name is Alive and that the more they played . . . the more I remembered I didn't like them. They did have a "tamborine contest" . . . which is so not my speed. I went to the restroom for the second song and had left by the third. But I did it, damn it.

So when K. backed out on Ministry yesterday afternoon and then I hit the traffic jam on 96, I figured it was the fates (or God's) way of telling me that I just shouldn't go to Harpo's alone. I was already 2 hours late and my truck would have just been broken into or something.

So on the summer list . . . find someone who lives on this side of town to go to the bar with (cause no, I don't want to go to the bar in the Shores) AND find someone to go to shows with . . . so I can at least talk to someone about how lame the show is . . .