| | |
 |
 | ||
|
THE OPEN ROAD |
|||
|
08.01 The
SlicKitty Heads South Heavy Rebel Weekender
And…they’re off! After Danielle and I grab a copy of The Bad Girl’s Guide to the Open Road, pick up Courtney and some Turkey Jerky, we hit the road to the requisite “H’YAH” of Concrete Blonde’s “Ghost of a Texas Ladies’ Man”. Determined to make the ride at least half the fun of getting there, we put the top down on the car, and follow suit with the girls in it. That’s right, we started flashing truckers. Hey, these guys sit in a truck all day; you’ve got to give them something to fuel the fantasy! At first, Danielle and Courtney were all talk, but after I began the fun, they quickly followed the trend. One thing about this sport, it really makes you take notice of the truckers. I couldn’t believe how many of them had animal print cowboy hats and tats from their hairlines to their toes (I presume). After a few minutes, Danielle realizes that she’s far too confined and it’s taking her too long to get the goods out of the package, so she removes the wrapper. Off came the tank top. Being the lady she is, she wrapped a cardigan over her bra but didn’t button it (actually, it didn’t have buttons, but you get the picture). After several more flashes, we tired of our game and Danielle and Courtney just got tired, leaving me to drive to the sounds of Eva Eastwood and the Major Keys. As usual on a road trip gas became necessary and we stopped in Graham, NC. This town will never be the same again. After our visit, they may just erect a statue of Danielle. While removing (most of) the trash from my poor, battered car and with water bottles in one hand, empty bags of carrots and jerky in the other and paying no attention to her ensemble, whatsoever, she turns and whispers, violently, “What is this asshole’s PROBLEM? He’s looking at me like I’m the whore of Babylon!” Which is when we all notice (now keep in mind, she’s been out of the car for a good 7-8 minutes) that she never put her shirt back on! Now, here’s the real kicker. The guy she’s flashing quickly gets in a van with about 12 other Hispanic people. Ask me what the van says on the side? No really, ask. Okay, I’ll tell you, it was a van full of the “Apostles de Jesus Christo” or some such junk. Suffice to say, Danielle had just flashed a van full of Hispanic Holy Rollers (I think that’ll be the name of my band when I get one). I laughed so hard I lost the ability to do anything else. It was one of those moments that you have to savor over the course of time. I’m sure that moment’s been clipped from the security tape and now rests comfortably in the porn collection of some gas station manager. Shortly
hereafter, we arrive at the Heavy Rebel Weekender and check into our
“room.” OH GROSS! This place was a first class dump! The poor little boys
in wife beaters in the room next to us couldn’t take it when they found
blood and piss in their beds Folks, don’t ever stay at the Budget Inn in
Winston Salem. It’s not the chain you’re thinking of. It’s a mom &
pop, or Apu and Shara [substitute your own Middle Eastern parents’ names
here] shithole. We really need showers though. Thankfully, I’m wearing
beach shoes, the ankle-breakin’ kind with enough padding at the bottom to
make Ronnie James Dio feel tall, so I don’t even have to touch the shower
floor (or any other part of it for that matter). The Millennium Center is relatively empty when we arrive. But we are pleased to find there are vendors with cool stuff everywhere, and three indoor and one outdoor stage for bands. Cheap beer (Pabst & Bud Light) was in abundance and the only other alcoholic choice was Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Danielle grabs a Mike’s, Courtney grabs a Pabst and I follow suit. We have a look around; locate some of our online friends (including Stacy who is getting a rocking tattoo of a panther arm in a coffin. What a gal!), find another friend, Jym, and settle in. The boys in beaters from next door at the roach motel come up and say “hi.” They had relocated to another hotel. They ask our names and I’m honest, but Danielle decides to be impish and replies, “Hi, I’m Jagina” (soft “J” yes, as in to rhyme with vagina). The poor guy looks at her and never doubts her for a minute, but he does choke a bit as he asks her if she minds if he calls her Gi Gi. She says that’s fine and we begin to chat. I saw a lot of my friends from Wilmington, NC (shout out!) and we did a bit of window-shopping. Then, it was off to visit the tattoo artists. I bought a new piece of jewelry for my navel from a cool cat with blue hair named Monty, but neither Monty nor I accurately judged the color in the dim lighting, so I ended up with a purple piece when what I wanted was red. This had to be remedied that the next day. We trekked downstairs for a while to see the end of the Straight 8’s, then back upstairs to catch The Needles. Back downstairs (working off that beer) to see a band called The Unholy Trio. Several beers and bands later and we were fading fast. Jym grabbed us a couple of chairs (that he wrested from some kids who were lounging on couches in the next room), but it didn’t take long before we collected Courtney, social butterfly that she is, and headed out. We all decided we could use a bite to eat before turn-in (we had to think of some way to prevent hangovers), so we stopped at Mr. Waffle for some surprisingly good eats. Then it was off to find Jym’s hotel. Well, that certainly took long enough. By the time it was all said and done, we knew downtown Winston-Salem like we knew our own toothbrushes. Speaking of toothbrushes, how we managed to use them and wash our faces that night is beyond me. 7/7/01 - Saturday “Get up. You hung over?” “No, you?” “No.” “Courtney?” (Who had her OWN bed! Princess. Just kidding. She was the angel who paid for the room. She deserves her own bed.) “No, I’m not hung over.” All right then, up and at ‘em. Showers all around and we’re back downtown. First thing we see is a small shop called Snapfingers. There are hula girls in the window, so Danielle and I must investigate, leaving Courtney and Jym to carry on without us. Inside, we purchase bindi dots, the cutest pineapple beaded change purse, a Hula Man for the dashboard whom we named “Doll-inger”(you had to be there), and agonized over whether we’d look silly if we both bought sumo fans and whether or not the martini night light was too expensive. Yes, the nightlight was too expensive, but deciding that it was hot enough that it didn’t matter about the fans, we each grabbed one and off we went to the car show. Primered beaters with rust or glossy paint with an array of hood ornaments, shiny engines or greasy engines; it was paradise as far as the eye could see. Our buddy LuckyStrikeMike brought out “Grassed Lightning”, his iron cross-adorned riding lawn mower and we set about deciding how to label it for the show. I don’t remember much except that we decided that the Horsepower was best answered simply, “no” and that the engine size answer was something akin to 1’ x 3’ x 1.5’. As we reached the end of car alley (which was blocked off in downtown Winston-Salem just for our shindig, thank you City Hall), we were ready for the Jell-O wrestlin’. Now, I have to call Courtney out on this. She made a big deal out of how she was gonna be the best (not to mention cutest) Jell-O wrestler there, but when she saw the fierceness of the competition, she choked like a toddler on a hotdog disc. Despite Mike Martin (the proprietor of the entire weekender) and his little brother’s desperate pleas, she wouldn’t budge. Oh well, you can’t make a gal do what she doesn’t want to do, and in her defense, Stacy was serious about this shit. She was out for blood. First round is set to happen and Stacy takes the gold against a guy (I want to say he was with one of the bands, but I can’t be sure which one). The next round and it was two new wrestlers; a girl and a guy. The girl is your standard, “I’ll wrestle in melted Jell-O” variety, but the guy quickly dons a leotard (yes, a leotard) of blue zebra strips. Oh, but that’s not all sports fans! Next he pulls (from where, I can only imagine) what can best be described as a conquistador hood. This guy was hardcore. Up on the hay bale ring he goes and back-flipped in. Oh yes – back-flipped. If you’ve ever wondered whether or not wrestling was choreographed, this guy can allay any doubts you had, the answer is “yes.” He was stealing Diamond Cutters from Diamond Dallas Page, The People’s Elbow from the Rock and Stone Cold Stunners from Stone Cold Steve Austin. More wrestlers, but none as spectacular as this guy, finish out the rounds. After all
the fun with Jell-O, it was off to the burnout contest where all of the
hot-rodders were to compete for the best rubber-burner. The smell of
ground gears and burnt rubber fills the air (or was that testosterone?
Those are strikingly similar smells). Even LuckyStrikeMike got in on the
action with Grassed Lightning. She may not burn rubber, but she’s a hot
number nonetheless. Another ringer was Dolinger’s VW bug. It took several
guys to hold her back so she could get enough power to even take off real
fast, much less burn any rubber. Oh well, when you love a car, you love
her, right? Back to the room for another shower, a change of sweat drenched clothing and a nice flower in the hair and we’re off. We swing by BP for some floss (which we didn’t get) and the guys inside ask Danielle if we’re from Texas because, “No one dresses like that around here. I mean, your friend has a flower in her hair.” OooooKAY then. When Danielle explains our business, the guys said, “Oh that’s so cool. I love your vintage car!” (Now kiddies, if you’ve examined these pictures at all, you can see that I drive a 2001 Cabrio. Pretty vintage, huh? I mean, they just don’t make 2001 Cabrios like they used to, right?) And it was off to the shows. We catch a good piece of Lords of the Highway who are absolutely made by the bassist, Sugar. She’s a real pistol, I’ll tell you that much. That was the only CD I bought and I’m very disappointed to say that Sugar’s not on it. Not only that, but the CD isn’t any good without her. I’ll have to buy one with her in order to review it at a later date. Downstairs we took in Psychocharger (who drench themselves in fake blood and play in their underwear), The Holy Smokes and a band that stunk. Fortunately, I can’t remember the name of the band that stunk, so I don’t have to dog them in the here. Upstairs we caught The Frantic Flattops and The Belmont Playboys. This was a much better night of music. The night before, only The Needles floated my boat (look for the review forthcoming). I bought a couple of fantastic shirts, one from the fabulous Dennis at Deno’s Duds www.denosduds.com. And a parody of the KISS shirt depicting all four member’s heads in cross formation. Remember that one? Gene Simmons at the top, tongue waggling? Well, this one was all cats in the same makeup, poses, positions, etc. and in the same KISS logo, it says PUSS. I love this shirt. That one was courtesy of Cookie Puss www.cookiepuss.com. This time, we were wiser. We found a blues bar across the street that would let us in free and we were able to buy liquor (which was good because I owed Mark of The Belmont Playboys and his lovely girlfriend a round of Long Island Iced Teas). The place was brimming with greasers and 80’s throwbacks (who were part of the bar’s regular crowd), so it was an interesting mix. The greasers were just there to throw back shots, get as drunk as possible in as little time as possible and get out. Four shots and two drinks later, we stumble from the blues bar to put our merchandise in the trunk of my “vintage” (sorry, can’t get over that) car and practically fall right into an “Alcoholics Anonymous” (Hispanic Alcoholics Anonymous) meeting. Oops, sorry dudes, were really not here to bring you down, but WHY IN THE HELL ARE YOU MEETING NEXT DOOR TO A BAR? After the festivities, we grab Dolinger, leave Courtney with Frantic Frank and take a little joyride. On the way to return Dolinger, who wouldn’t stand for being kidnapped despite Danielle’s pleas (I will add that it was his own suggestion), we see much police activity and make a mental note to avoid it on the way back. Danielle and I return to Mr. Waffle and see the boys formerly known as “next door neighbors” at the door. We are all checking out the police activity when one of the boys sweetly and innocently asks, “Was it one of us? Was it a Rockabilly?” I could have squished his cheeks and kissed him. Could he BE any cuter? Well, that’s about the size of it. More fun was had, but I can only type so much before carpal tunnel sets in. Danielle and I drove back together (sans Courtney who was hardcore enough to stay the extra day. Lucky girl avoided the worst traffic I’ve ever seen and I live in D.C. for Pete’s sake!) and it took us over 10 hours! Can you imagine? We got there in less than 6! Ridiculous. We did make friends with a very nice family who offered Danielle $200 for her cowboy hat and movie star glasses over the din of Type O Negative’s “My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend”. How Dad explained that one to the kiddies is probably a story for a different day, but he did make contact first! Whew…what
a weekend.
|
Photos by Misty Webb & Mike Martin And they're off...
The cars were beautiful...
Burnout contest winner...
The streets were lined with kustoms...
Those crazy greasers will do a burnout in anything!
The orginal kustom winner, "grassed lightening"...
Nothing like a little white trash jello wraslin'...
I think we have a winner...
There were so many bands...
Psychocharger played in skivvies and blood...
Briefs, obviously...
Sugar.... so very sweet!
| ||
| Copyright 2000 Sparechange Magazine |
|
|
