poppedeye-blog1

[poppedeye-blog1]

Getting Poison’d

Flash back to May 27, 1988.  Bright neon pinks, blues, and greens decorated the hottest fashions.  The hole in the ozone layer was not only closely observed but was enlarging due to the craze of Picasso-like hair sculpturing – the birth of the Hair Bears.  Disco died a well deserved death as rock n’ roll took back control of the air waves. And the “Grand Slam Glam Kings of Noise,” Poison, were opening for the ex-Van Halen singer, David Lee Roth, live at the Oakland arena.  7:00pm, one hour before show time, Bay Area rockers gathered in the parking lot to prepare themselves for the concert.  Unknown to some people, the parking lot scene before a rock n’ roll concert can be quite the entertaining show itself.

    A sea of cars had washed into the parking lot of the arena while more and more waves continued to flood in.  Although stationary, life thrived from within and around the parked VW vans, Pontiac Trans Ams, a Datsun 210 with a homemade paint job: green, yellow and orange surged together to lay the background for words written in black – Slayer!, Brett eats ASSSS, Work sucks.  Amongst all the cars, a tall, chunky, greasy faced, shoulder length blond, self tattooed – LUV/HĀT – guy ducked down in the back seat of a heavily dented 72’ Plymouth Duster.  As Mr. LUV/HĀT screamed, “WOOOH!” he opened the door and handed his girlfriend a tightly rolled up dollar bill and said “Where did you get this shit, Jill?”

    Jill, a thin, pale, flat chested, over home permed red headed creature who passed herself off as a woman, took the rolled bill and said, “From those guys over there with the hearse.”  She climbed into the car to find out for herself if she did indeed score some good shit.  Meanwhile, Mr. LUV/HĀT cracked open a Budweiser and headed over towards the hearse.

    There have been all kinds of vehicles at concerts, but this was a hearse.  An old mid-70’s Cadillac, midnight black, outlined in guiding light chrome trim, skull and crossbones hung on the antenna, back door opened to reveal four people drinking beer while lying down flat on their backs hearse.  This hearse was a monument to death that attracted partying rockers from row after row of the cars around.  A circle of about twenty people formed at the back of the hearse so that the music being blasted could be heard.  “Mama We’re All Crazy Now” filled people’s heads as cheap beer filled their stomachs. Cigarettes burned bright in the windy night as joints kept having to be re-lit over and over again.  With shaking hands and a jerky swagger, Mr. LUV/HĀT walked over to the edge of the circle and slowly mingled and drank and toked and smoked and sang and laughed until his presence caused the circle to grow a little to incorporate him.

    Mr. LUV/HĀT continuously wiped his nose as he attempted to find the man who had sold Jill the good shit.  “I just want to thank him, man.  Shit, I mean, that’s good, man.  The stuff.  Yeah, I just want to say, ‘thanks,’ ya know, and maybe get some more,” said Mr. LUV/HĀT to just about everyone who was within earshot.  Finally, a man about six feet tall, long black hair worn in a ponytail, Harley Davidson tattoo on his left forearm, deep blue eyes, tan complexion, muscles bulging and nose collapsed approached Mr. LUV/HĀT and said, “Dude!  I don’t know who the fuck you are but you had better keep your mouth shut.”

    “Chill man.  I just want to find the guy who sold my girlfriend that shit.  She said it was someone over here.  Look, man, I just want to get some more, man,” explained Mr. LUV/HĀT.

    “You with that chick over there,” asked Mr. Harley Davidson while pointing to what looked like a skeleton dressed in a leather mini-skirt and a Motley Crue t-shirt walking towards the circle.

    “Yeah, that’s Jill.”

    “Cool, I’m Vince, man, sorry, but ya know.”

    “Man, shit yeah, I know, man,” explained Mr. LUV/HĀT.

    From there, the two walked around to the driver’s side of the hearse to conduct business.  Meanwhile, the four people who were lying in the back of the hearse raised themselves up so that this short, toothpick-limbed, brace-faced, drunk as hell off only two beers, 14 year old kid could experience the joys of sexual adulthood with a twenty-two year old walrus of a woman.  The walrus’ breasts may have been as large as the twin towers of the old World Trade Center, but this was offset by the reality that the rest of her could flatten Manhattan.  The circle of friends turned around to watch the back door of the hearse close. As they continued to drink more beer, smoke more pot, and pass around a bottle of Jack Daniels, the circle of rockers screamed out to the freak show couple in the hearse, “Go Tommy!” “Hope ya can find the hole!” “Hey Cathy, can ya even feel it, man?”

    The rocking of the hearse had startled Vince, who had spilled a line off his checker board and onto the floor mat.  “FUCK!” he screamed as he exited the driver’s seat and walked back to the circle.  Realizing that the session was over, Mr. LUV/HĀT snorted what he could off the mat, got out of the passenger side, lit a cigarette, and walked over to Jill.

    “Who’s in there?  Who’s in my fucking car, fucking?” demanded Vince.

    A few people started to giggle, then a few more, and the someone snickered, which caused everyone to burst into loud roaring laughter. Well, everyone but Vince and Mr. LUV/HĀT. Finally, a guy who was completely dressed in the glam rock fashion – red leather pants, black ruffled shirt, white and pink leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up, red feather boa, and enough make-up to push Revlon up two points on the NYSE – said to Vince, “It’s Tommy.  Tommy and Cathy.”

    Vince’s stone cold face cracked a smile.  Then, like everyone else, Vince joined in the laughter.  Mr. LUV/HĀT, who did not know who either Tommy or Cathy were, laughed anyway. Finally, Vince wiped his eyes, grabbed a beer from an almost empty case by his feet, cracked it, took a pull, and said, “Well, I guess my little brother’s got to start getting laid some time.”  He paused just long enough to take another swig of beer and think a moment before saying, “But with Cathy?  Oh boy.  Tommy’s got to get some standards, man.”

    “Shit, Vince, that boy’s got the beer goggles, man.  I mean, shit, after a few more beers, I would have jumped on Cathy,” announced the red boa’d leather rebel.

    As the crowd laughed heartily at that comment, Mr. LUV/HĀT stood watching the hearse of love bounce up and down while a muffled “I want to rock n’ roll all night…” escaped the now closed back door.  Mr. LUV/HĀT rubbed his nose, his red cracked eyes, and then Jill’s butt. Continually attempting to make eye contact, Mr. LUV/HĀT’s rump ridding hand slid down Jill’s tight leather mini, hit thigh, and began to take the flesh path back up her leg towards anticipated pleasure.  Jill’s dainty hand of bone tore her boyfriend’s paw away from her as she struggled to say, “Stop, I don’t feel so good.”  Without anymore warning, her already pale face turned almost transparent.  Jill doubled over and, using Mr. LUV/HĀT for support, vomited a river of Jack Daniels, beer, blood, and bile. After a few minutes, wet heaves became dry, and then ceased all together.  Mr. LUV/HĀT took his beloved skeleton lady in his shaking arms and inquired, “Jill, you’re feelin’ good enough, right?  I mean,, you’re still going in?  Man, ya know, you ain’t wanting to, like, go home or nothing right?”     With Jill just staring at him, Mr. LUV/HĀT continued:  “I mean, we can just sit down and watch.  Man, we don’t have to go to the floor.  Man, Jill, what do you say?”

    With bleak blank teary eyes, Jill said, “I’m alright.  Let’s just go in.”

    The entire group concurred with Jill’s suggestion.  Especially Vince, who was now sure that the white Dodge van parked about 30 feet down that way, right there between that yellow El Camino and the primered 57’ Chevy, was definitely D.E.A. issue.  Vince knew those narcs were following him.  And he did not care if the red boa’d leather rebel swore that two fine chicks had come out of that van only fifteen minutes ago, because Vince knew that was just what the D.E.A. wanted them to think.

    The show was about to start.  As the group around the hearse walked off, they continued to laugh, scream, smoke, drink, and enjoy the cool night air that Oakland had to offer.  Mr. LUV/HĀT practically carried Jill.  Red boa’d leather rebel kept tripping over his untamable wild feather boa.  Vince periodically whipped his head around, when everyone least expected and yelled, “Ya see?  Ya see them hiding?  They’re following us, I know it, man.”  The entire group from the circle behind the hearse moved towards the gates of the arena like pilgrims on the road to Mecca.  They were two people short, however.  Tommy and Cathy had remained behind in the bay of the hearse to continue their sexual exploration.  And, as it turned out, when Tommy lost his virginity, he became a man, a daddy, and a husband all in just a few swift strokes.

    I’d go on to tell you about the concert itself, but it wasn’t very memorable. Sometimes the real show is outside, in the parking lot, well before any band ever takes the stage.