the danish outpost
updated when time and inspiration allow. latest and greatest always in the blog.
one nation, under P-Funk

2000-09-26

feeling kinda how a girl feels

all hail the oh so sexy greg boyer!"Come on, Maceo! Come on, Maceo! Come on, come on, come on, Maceo!"

if you've never shouted and grooved to that chant, you haven't yet experienced the love that Maceo has for each and every one of you. and let there be no doubt, he. LOVES. you.

the Roxy is also the perfect place to funk to the love. i mean, you *have* to get up and dance! but let me back up and start the saga of my career as a band slut properly. 8)

as a treat, i had given my sweetie tickets to the show. his office is moving, and they're doing a lot of the work on the weekends, so i checked first to see if he'd be free that night. (treats don't work so well if you're too damn tired to enjoy them.) not only was he free, but he asked me to be his date.

we headed downtown a little early, since it wasn't really clear if there was an opening act or not. turns out there was, so sweetie and i wandered off to get dinner before the show. note to self: remember what a freak show there is in the theatre district before you go down there again. at one point, sweetie went in to buy me a candy bar, and i chose to wait outside. ~sigh~ this guy wanders over to bum a cigarette. he gets the standard answer: "sorry, it's my last one." then he tries to tell me how attractive i am - but he's not a pervert, so i shouldn't be nervous. right. then he tells me he's a scalper - "no thanks, we already have tix for tonight." he had the nerve to get all huffy, and say he wasn't actually trying to sell me any tickets, he was just telling me "in case". yeah. like the next time i need some tickets, i'll wander back down there, stand on the street corner, cash in hand, and holler "has anyone seen roland, my scalper buddy?".

earl's probably right; i probably could have bought a dime bag off him. sweetie was also quite right about the mammoth hawaiian shirted guy, parked on a chair he had swung around backwards, outside Tony's Pizza Joint: said mammoth should really have been condemned, torn down, and replaced by a parking lot. because there just ain't enough parking down there.

the roxy is a great place to see a show. good sound system, nice dance floor, and plenty of room up on the balconies to just sit and watch, should you choose. and we chose; sweetie was tired, so we found a little table right by the rail with a great view of the action.

the opening band was quite a pleasant suprise, much better than the eminently forgettable group that opened for maceo last time. actually, it's more like i couldn't *stand* the last opening act, so it's not so much forgetting as actively repressing. this band, tho, was good. the addison groove project has clearly drunk deeply from the fountain of maceo; pretty impressive for a bunch of college students. nice, tight grooves, and everyone looked like they were having a great time up there. the funniest moment was watching the sax player, dave adams (who signed my CD - thanks, cutie!) dance around with his horn - which he had slung sort of upside down, and gripped right behind the mouthpiece... and it looked for all the world as if, as he was hoopin' around up there, that he was trying to jerk off the sax.

make what you will of that last line.

anyway, check out their site, try out the music, send them your love, catch a show if they're coming your way, buy their music if they aren't.

and then came maceo.

from the moment the band stepped out, i had the biggest goofy grin on my face. their music just makes you happy. i kept skittering down to the dance floor every so often, mostly because i was convinced that dancing on the balcony would ensure my early death, as i plunged over the railing. did i mention my fear of heights? then i discovered, coming back up the stairs by the stage, that the landing was a great vantage point for watching the band. i brought the security guy a bottle of water, as he was sweating his ass off, and he told me it was find to hang out there. bingo! my own personal dance stage! not only was this fabulous for me, but apparently fabulously entertaining for the boys in the band. this could be good or bad; don't know, don't care, as i was having the time of my life.

and just when i thought it couldn't get better... it did. now, let me just say i rarely have high-pitched, squeaky girlie moments. just not my style. but this... ohmigawd. the trombone player, whom i had had my eye on all night, came off stage, up on the stairs, and said "i need a dance partner."

to me.

i just about died, thinking he was going to pull me out on stage. but no, he just wanted to share my own little stage with me. OHMIGAWD! (insert about 10 minutes of incoherent squeaking at the high end of the spectrum) i got to dance with greg boyer!!!! the man is not only immensely talented musically, but a FINE dancer, and he asked me to dance with him!

greg, you made my whole week, really and truly. (note to self: send dear jon letter to jon stewart.)

of course, i had to cap off this little moment in true grace and form: racing back up the stairs to squeak at my sweetie, i kind of didn't see the step at the top landing, and managed to careen around the corner, nearly landing on my face. thankfully, i could have cared less.

and that, my friends, is the latest chapter in my career as band slut. life is good.

yesterday tomorrow

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