My Thursday Night of Terror
I never really wished someone’s fingers to cramp up so that they would stop playing the guitar. Until tonight.
I was dragged down to the 9:30 club to listen to a band called Son Volt. It’s hard to describe their sound, but it made my mustache melt. It is the closest thing that I can imagine to squirrels crying with a couple of guitars.
Really. I almost grabbed the chopsticks being used as a hair holder upper from the woman in front of me to stick in my ears. I needed the pain to stop. I have never walked out of a concert early, but tonight was the night.
Maybe I’m not being fair. I’m Guatemalan and my first language wasn’t English. For those of you out there who, like me, learned English second, you know that sometimes listening to English-language songs is difficult. I can’t always understand what they’re saying. I pick up a word here and there then hope the chorus is good and slow.
With these guys, I’m not sure, I think I heard the following words: limestone, shorts, jeans, shore, sad, tears and opaque. This could, of course, just be my gorgeous just had his mustache melted off by the sounds of hell, mind playing tricks on me, but I’m not so sure. After a while, I started to make up lyrics:
Through the grounds of limestone
And your sweet jean shorts
My tears of sadness just seem to moan
I remember your smile by the side of the lake
Back then you weren’t wearing blue
Oh baby it was opaque
Then after a couple more lyrics that made me realize that almost every song they were singing could easily be included on my Suicide Playlist, I left. I couldn’t deal with it anymore.
They should walk up to the side of the lake and toss all of their instruments in the water. The fish will probably all die and the lake will become barren for hundreds of years, but hey, that’s what you have to do to save humanity. I’m serious. My mustache melted.
My Internet is back.