Wednesday, June 18, 2003

Happy soft shell crab season to one and all! Praise be Neptune.
Crunched the guts out of two of them this evening when Jen and Eric took me out to Bon Voyage to Grad School dinner on a private, desolate patio.
Afterwards headed to the Dicky Betts gig downtown to make his second set.
You know you're in for a surreal night when there's a line of 40 guys waiting to pee and it's clear sailing into the ladies.
I encountered a few people I know, already past the oblivion bend. I saw Nick the security man who I talked with once but who seemed oddly hostile, perhaps his biker braid was too tight. Shimmied up to the front of the stage moments before Dicky and his cowboy accoutrements (boots, hat, band) hit the stage.
Dicky Betts Illuminati Strange Quip 1:
(woman, age perhaps 50, eyes unfocused, reeling on feet as she asks)
Who're you shootin' fer? Oh, well if you're writing an article you can use my quote, use it anonymously. (pregnant pause, mustering up her best serious quote-time voice)
When I go to a Dicky Betts concert I feel like I'm in joint custody. Afterwards I have to go to see Greg Allman.

Dicky Betts Illuminati Strange Quip 2:
(man with really sweaty hair, yes, hair. smiling, shouting, standing behind me)
Hey, who're you shootin' for? OHHHH, are you Nicole?
(where's that secret button for the trap door he's standing upon, I thought. I'm thinking he's thinking of Nicole Peradotto but she's no shooter so I just say Nope).
He pursues this. Nicole... Nicole Parisi? I say I'm Nancy Parisi.
(pause, pause, pause, I'm waiting for the light on Dicky's body to shine more red and yellow as The Tralf suddenly remembered that they do, in fact, have other than purple and bue gels on lights)
Is that N-A-N-C-I? he shouts into my right ear.
Nope, that's N-A-N-C-Y.
I am so sorry, Sweaty Head says, I look at your photographs every Thursday, I love your work, you're almost famous.
Suddenly I think this drenched mis-speller is allright, event after he creates a bit of chaos with a carafe of red wine which he topples and tried to sponge up with his hands.
As soon as Dicky sang and played at the same time and I was ensured I had the true and desired IT, I was gone like an Arizona tumbleweed blown across the night highway and a speeding range of headlights.
Snakebite love.

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