I thought today I’d continue my series of “Boobs I Haven’t Seen” after my recent post about the lady who only wanted me to lie about showing me her boobs.
Years ago, I used to play the Borders Books circuit. They used to have indie artists perform in their cafes. It was a nice gesture towards the local arts economy that didn’t really cost them much but did bring in some business. Then they started putting all sorts of restrictions and rules on the performances and eventually stopped doing them altogether. Now they’re out of business. Coincidence? I think not.
So one time I was booked to play the Borders in Santa Cruz, CA. Not remembering, of course, that Santa Cruz isn’t fond of chain businesses. But hey, the local bookshop wasn’t inviting me to play.
Like a good little artist, I got into town early that day to do street promotion with my sample CDs. Early in the day I talked briefly with two women on the street and gave them CDs. They seemed nice enough, but not particularly interested in the show. Didn’t expect to see them again after that.
Did the show that night for a small but enthusiastic crowd. I used to open those shows with my song “Two Of Me” because it turns out if you start screaming like a nutcase in the middle of a bookstore cafe, you can gather a crowd. Try it sometime.
At this same show, a guy drew a little cartoon of me and gave it to me after the show. That would be the same one I use around the web and on my Stuff People Like CD. I wish I knew who the guy was so I could give him some money for it.
Just as I’m finishing the show those two gals from earlier in the day walk in. They had obviously had a few drinks with dinner that night. And they came in saying “Aww! We missed the show! We wanted to hear Whale Blubber!” I had already played the song earlier in the show and there was an act on after me so I couldn’t go long.
I’m never one to let a potential fan get away, drunk or not. So I said, “Hey let’s just go out on the street and I’ll play the song for you on the sidewalk.” They settle unsteadily onto the window sill outside and I dig into the song. As I hit the first chorus the movie theater next door lets out and this huge rush of people crowds the sidewalk, with a huge portion of them stopping to listen to me sing this ridiculous song. Cool, a second audience for the evening. Wish I’d had CDs out to sell or at least and open guitar case.
The further I get into the song, the more these two girls are cuddling up to each other on the window sill. As if this actually were some sort of romantic song and not a song about eating whale blubber and blowing grizzly bears. But hey, I’ll take some googly eyes when they arrive.
The song finishes and I get a big applause break from the crowd that had gathered. Then the two girls totter over to me and one says she’s always wanted to learn how to play guitar. So we do the “drunken try to show her how to play a G chord” thing. They ask how the show went.
Then they start telling me why they’re in town. They’re yoga instructors in training and they’ve been at a mountain retreat for the past 3 weeks. This was their first time off the mountain in that whole time. As they’re standing there holding each other up, one leeringly asks me, “So what are you doing now?”
Freeze frame: Lonely drunken yoga instructors starved for fun after 3 weeks of isolation. TWO of them.
Yoga instructors…. Think of the possibilities.
The letter started composing itself in my head. “Dear Penthouse… I never thought it would happen to me…”
If I were writing a cheeseball porn script, there’s a good chance it would start exactly this way. But it would end differently. Otherwise it would be one hell of a crappy porno.
Immediately remembering my girlfriend of a decade plus waiting for me at home, my answer was “Going home to my girlfriend.”
“AWWWWWWW!” they replied.
“Awwwwwww…” the 15 year old in my head chimed in with them.
Then I did go home. And they didn’t buy a CD from me. I probably could have gotten ten bucks out of them at least. But I’m not one to take advantage of drunk people with money. (Shush, Brendan Lynch….)
And that, my friends, is another time where I didn’t see the boobs…