If you haven't read yesterday's post about this weekend's charity event, just go ahead and scroll down. Go ahead. The rest of us will wait...
You done? Man, you're a slow reader. You should get that shit tested.
Okay, so after Joe and I shocked the other members of the band when they walked into the hotel room to find us sitting on the bed in bathrobes, we all got changed and headed down to the ballroom.
After our Spinal Tap-like odyssey through the kitchen, we arrived behind the stage to see Mike Barnicle and Lenny Clarke auctioning off some very expensive items. Actually, I think they were auctioning - Clarke was doing a hell of a lot of yelling, but it wasn't completely clear about what. Hearing that guy's voice is liking having your pubes caught in a rusted, malfunctioning electronic de-pubenator.
Finally, it was time to hit the stage. Joe and I did ourselves so much rockin', that we actually became blurry:
A few songs into the set, I was unceremoniously dumped out of the band. John Henry, the Red Sox owner and the evening's honoree, was asked up on stage for a tune. He grabbed my bass with his ashen hand and had at it. If you look close, you can see me in the background, playing a stirring cowbell:
Then, it was time to be joined on stage by former J. Geils Band frontman Peter Wolf:
On stage, Peter is as energetic and exciting a performer as ever. It's easy to forget when you see this skinny, Tim-Burton-in-50-years-looking guy that he was a HUGE rock star. Hit records, covers of Rolling Stone, the whole deal. When he hits the stage, it's the late 70's again. He jumps around, works the crowd - a real pro.
Off stage, however, the guy is a very strange little man. Perfectly nice, but just odd. You know that "yamma gamma frootala toota" gibberish that he made famous in his live performances back in the day? That's how he really talks in real life. It's wild. Joe and I had a joke that he was going to keep calling us ridiculous names:
Peter: Nice job on bass there, Gabba.
Me: Actually, my name isn't Gabba. It's Brendan.
Peter: That's not what your friend Yabba told me.
Joe: Me? You're referring to me? I'm Yabba?
Peter: Zamma lamma froota la boota...
Joe: That's not English, Peter. If you're trying to communicate with us in some way...
Peter: (growing angry) Froota la bootala!
Overall, it was a terrific night that I'll remember for a long time. Thanks to everyone who set it up and allowed me to be a part of it all.
My crappy job is going to be very busy the rest of this week, so I don't know how often, if at all, I'll get to post journal entries. I'll try my best, though. To make it easier on me, how about this - if you've got a funny or interesting story, joke or insult, shoot it over to me at brendan@scamper.net. The floor is yours.
You done? Man, you're a slow reader. You should get that shit tested.
Okay, so after Joe and I shocked the other members of the band when they walked into the hotel room to find us sitting on the bed in bathrobes, we all got changed and headed down to the ballroom.
After our Spinal Tap-like odyssey through the kitchen, we arrived behind the stage to see Mike Barnicle and Lenny Clarke auctioning off some very expensive items. Actually, I think they were auctioning - Clarke was doing a hell of a lot of yelling, but it wasn't completely clear about what. Hearing that guy's voice is liking having your pubes caught in a rusted, malfunctioning electronic de-pubenator.
Finally, it was time to hit the stage. Joe and I did ourselves so much rockin', that we actually became blurry:
A few songs into the set, I was unceremoniously dumped out of the band. John Henry, the Red Sox owner and the evening's honoree, was asked up on stage for a tune. He grabbed my bass with his ashen hand and had at it. If you look close, you can see me in the background, playing a stirring cowbell:
Then, it was time to be joined on stage by former J. Geils Band frontman Peter Wolf:
On stage, Peter is as energetic and exciting a performer as ever. It's easy to forget when you see this skinny, Tim-Burton-in-50-years-looking guy that he was a HUGE rock star. Hit records, covers of Rolling Stone, the whole deal. When he hits the stage, it's the late 70's again. He jumps around, works the crowd - a real pro.
Off stage, however, the guy is a very strange little man. Perfectly nice, but just odd. You know that "yamma gamma frootala toota" gibberish that he made famous in his live performances back in the day? That's how he really talks in real life. It's wild. Joe and I had a joke that he was going to keep calling us ridiculous names:
Peter: Nice job on bass there, Gabba.
Me: Actually, my name isn't Gabba. It's Brendan.
Peter: That's not what your friend Yabba told me.
Joe: Me? You're referring to me? I'm Yabba?
Peter: Zamma lamma froota la boota...
Joe: That's not English, Peter. If you're trying to communicate with us in some way...
Peter: (growing angry) Froota la bootala!
Overall, it was a terrific night that I'll remember for a long time. Thanks to everyone who set it up and allowed me to be a part of it all.
My crappy job is going to be very busy the rest of this week, so I don't know how often, if at all, I'll get to post journal entries. I'll try my best, though. To make it easier on me, how about this - if you've got a funny or interesting story, joke or insult, shoot it over to me at brendan@scamper.net. The floor is yours.
3 Comments:
So did you play Centerfold or what?
The Geils songs we played were "Pack Fair and Square," "Love Stinks" and "Looking for a Love."
You rawk so hard.
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