VIRB

Baltimore is fucking hot and humid. I got in several hours before the rest of he crew had arrived and called Audra to let her know I had landed safely. She and Spike were still at the house and apparently, the folks from whom she arranged to rent the ring, fucked her at the last minute, so she had spent an entire morning trying to locate a ring in the area that could be transported to the location and assembled, which she was somehow able to achieve. She assured me she would tell me all about it once I saw her. I was half-tempted to go out and explore the town or maybe rent a car and go hit-up my friend Melissa, who pleaded with me to make the drive from Baltimore to Camden, NJ where the Vans Warped Tour was underway that day and where she would be partying-down this evening if I cared to join her. The drive was at least a two hour affair each way and since I really didn't know the streets of either city all that well, I opted to just stay put, read, drink coffee and listen to music to pass the time, which turned out to be a good 7 hours and some change before the rest of the bunch had arrived from San Francisco.

The hotel wasn't really anything to write home about, but all I really cared about was a soft place to lay my head. It was so hot and humid that we immediately kicked-on the AC. Little did I know that it would cool the moisture in the air so affectively that I would contract a cold from it.

Morning van call wasn't too demanding and the vans were there again to take us to the venue. We had to make a slight stp because we had one straggler to pick-up, who was catching a local rail-car into the closest stop on the way.

Once at the venue I could hear Cheap Trick playing and was instantly excited. We were fortnunate enough to tilt a glass back with Rick Nielson ten years ago when we played Minneapolis with the Mr. T Experience and the Grouvie Ghoulies. Cheap Trick was opening-up for Motley Crue at the venue across the street and he happened to wander over to investigate what all the ruckus was about. Apparently he liked the show and we bonded. I still have the photo somewhere.

Anyway, we were able to procure our passes, credentials and meal tickets easily enough, much thanks to Audra and the wrestling ring was easy enough to locate, though the event staff had yet to outfit us with the sound-system agreed upon in our contract. I'm just another hired hand and I wanted to see Amy Winehous, so I took my leave once her set started.



She looked rather palid and skinny, but the voice is still the voice...



And I became fast friends with the humungous video screens that provided much better angles as well as this weird texture and tone to the shots...





The venue was a large track for horse racing. Our agenda was to put in 3 sets of two matches each for the day, starting a little after 4. This is another reason why I don't like festivals... there is so much going on, you have to coordinate a time-table so that no one of the smaller acts is stuggling to be heard over one of the bigger acts on the main-stage. There is only so much time in so many intervals to do this and if something goes wrong or some need goes unmet, then that window does not get refunded.

Such was the case with us when we were still waiting not only for a sound-sytem with which our announcers could commentate on the matches as well as see to them-music of each wrestler... but also short on an area for all of us to change. We were able to comandere a small structure not far from the ring that was not being used and had about 8 layers of dust on every, possible surface... oh, well, better than nothing. Come ime for our first set and we are still stuck with our dicks in our hands, still haggling with production over equipment that was guaranteed to us as per our technical rider in our contract.

I don't know why it is like this for us, but it always is. Shane was the first to point it out and express it rather accurately: no matter where we go or how cordial we are with everyone with whom we come into contact, we are regarded as some sort of freak-show and are usually treated accordingly. We may as well be geeking live mice and chickens. And "wrestling" has and probably will always be one of those things around which people cannot reconcile themselves. You either "get it" or you don't. Unfortunately, most people do not, and yet we always pack a crowd of these same people. It's almost like some morbid crowd, waiting at a hazardous intersection in hopes that they'll get to see someone get splattered all over the pavement, so they can go home and talk about what an outrage it is. It is very easy for most to hate us. And we have quickly acclimated to this.

Case in point, during our last set I had entered the ring and felt sharp points upon my skin, I turned and noticed a middle-aged fellow scooping together handfuls of gravel to hurl at ME, of all people. Event security were even allowing him to breach the barricade, walking right past them and get right-up to ringside to do this. I pointed him to security and shouted,
"Do you see that man wearing any sort of laminate?! Then why are you allowing him past the barricade?!"

The guy shouted some very drunken, unintelligible shit to the affect that he would kill me and such... Mind you, I've never seen this guy in my life, he's just some very angry, drunken person in his early 40's who probably should have chosen pants over shorts for the sake of eveyone else having to be around him.

Security narry move a muscle and TELL him, "Um... you need to get back behind the barricade..."

What are you? On a DATE with this guy? Don't TELL him what he SHOULD do. MAKE HIM. It's actually in your job description. Again, this is why festivals are a headache, often time their security detail are nothing more than warm-bodied scarecrows with radios and matching outfits.

So, the whole set I have to keep one eye on the matches and the other on angry, drunk stranger. Lovely. Luckily, the set ends without much incident, or so I thought. As I was making my way to the dressing area I see Mr. angry-and-drunk right in front of me and I'm thinking, "Jesus, HERE we GO..." But he stared half-vacantly and asked in a small voice,
"Where is your merch tent."
"That would be the blue tent right next to the ring right THERE," I said, pointing ten feet away to my right and he stumbled off without really looking me in the face.

So, I went back to the dressing area to towel off a bit and get into the freshest clothes I had on-hand. Right as I was back outside again, the first thing I see is 5 of our guys, Spike included, running at top speed past me. I have no idea what happened, but I knew EXACTLY who it had to do with. Can you guess? So, I immediately joined the pursuit only to have my suspicions confirmed. I asked on of the guys what he did and they answered that he had sucker-punched Audra in the FACE. I turned to look at a very irate Audra bringing up the rear. Our guys held him to prevent him from running-off. Audra faced him and asked, "You like to hit WOMEN, you MOTHERFUCKER!?", unleashing a right cross that you could literally HEAR it when it met its mark. So much that eveyone within a twenty foot radious jerked their necks to see what had caused such a sound. (Audra's been training boxing for the last year and it really showed.) The man ducked his head downward to protect himself futiley as Audra delivered two more uppercuts. From there he was released, stumbling, visibly bleeding from the head...

As it turns out this guy used to work at The Fillmore in San Francisco. (You know, the REAL one where Hendrix and Miles Davis had performed?) We have done numerous shows there in the past. Aparently he and Audra butted-heads over some issue years ago during one of those shows. So when he heard that we were coming to town, he actively sought out Audra to confront her and solicit an apology from her. He didn't get it. So, he turned as though he were demuring from the conversation only to spin on his heel and sucker-punch her. Thanks largely in part to her training, Audra faded back as the blow came and it only glanced her. That is when the pursuit ensued. Nice, no?



Over by the artists tent I ran into my friend, Andrew Black. Andrew and I met on the Vans Warped Tour in 2001. He plays drums in a band called, The Explosion. They became one of my favorite bands of all time and by the time you read this, they will be no more. I met his girl and got to catch up with him some. He told me he would be focusing his efforts on a new band called, Georgie James. Keep an ear out.



















Soemtimes being a regular, run-of-the-mill douche-bag just doesn't cut it. You have to really do something that sets you apart from the rest of the popped-collars and white ball caps... and if that means getting 311, the band that practically pioneered douche-rock, to tag your back, then SO BE IT!



Seriously, nothing says: Spring Break-Lake Havisu-Housboat-kegger-date-rape MORE than a 311 record.

View original post >>