2.8.04

"Lot Full"

Amongst many other things, I am not 'street.' My ex and I would always bug each other about how 'not street' the other was. Well here is my proof for my non-streetness: I'm producing a music video for The Lowest of the Low, a band that, up until now, I called indie-punk, but now, after being at a Murder Squad concert (UPDATE (3:16am): Dwayne Slack is the connection here. More on that later, if I can muster the energy for a further entry) I can only consider them (the Lowest) to be a barely more hardcore than Blink 182. Murder Squad is a band that has adherents that wear nothing but black, black leather and black denim.

I wear flip-flops. On no less than two occasions, whilst in the modest mosh pit, did I lose my flip-flops. Each time (during lulls in the ruckus) I was able to recover my footwear. But never was I able to recover my black jeans or black t-shirt, because I wasn't wearing either.

I was the only person not wearing any black, and again, I was the only person wearing flip-flops. Yet, no one killed me, spit on me or mocked me. I moshed with them as an equal (until my legs wore out, and then I was a total wimp - even drinking more beer, the universal muscle relaxant, did not remedy my cramping legs,) I was welcomed into the group as if I had always been a member, truly proof that real tribes are genuinely inclusive groups that are open to others, especially neophytes. The most memorable moment was when an older gent said, while holding the lower portion of his back, that he "felt nearly torn into two" and smiled about it.

I escaped during the impromptu encore of Murder Squad, knowing my own limits after working out alcohol absorption calculations to get me home before I became a black-out victim. Whoosh! So many people outside in my neighbourhood, why? The Caribana is one, of course!

The incredible presence of the police was not missed by anyone - Dozens every block, or so it seemed. And I guess because of this there were no major incidence reported (as of this post) - everyone was too busy watching the rather pretty mounted police at John and Richmond to get into any trouble. Before making it that far, I had to stop and get some sustenance. I stopped at the most unlikely of locations, a small store front on Richmond called Hot Spot which attempts to differentiate itself from other quick service sandwich joints on the Club Stip by offering really good grilled sandwiches and a television blaring satellite tv triple-x pornography. I have to say that their grilled tuna sandwich with extra cheese was super yummie amazing...

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

dude...who are you...how do you know me?

signed...

dwayne slack

10:13 PM  

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