* i dig my fingernails into chuck's arm and giggle like someone pooted in church.
* thankfully, it seems she hasn't read my tiny little blip of a blog.
* the college boys sitting across from us on the bus keep talking about "an adventure" and "we should do this more often." they ditch into fonduluth cascino, sprinting like its disneyworld.
* our bus drops us at the orpheum nightclub before things have started.
* the members of bone appetite are having a having preshow drinks. offstage they look like friendly men who could fix your cell phone plan or hook you up with a roth ira.
* a man jumps off his bar stool and tells us that he is going to go try to wake up fred tyson, the first performer.
* upstairs, in the strip club, it sounds like a woman auction. a bingo-caller is reeling off the dimensions and resume highlights of a stripper who saw 1/4 a ball of black yarn and thought it would make a stunning evening dress.
* apparently professional celebrity strippers have been brought in for the night. "i'm already bored," one band guy says pushing past us. meawhile, the topless professional celebrity stripper on stage is skipping from dull-eyed male to dull-eyed male, selling motorboats for a buck a piece.
* the orpheum is filling with an unlikely crowd of people, stuffing into booths and reorganizing chair configurations. i'm not sure if we should tell them this ain't the olive garden now, or if we should let fred tyson's shiny boxer shorts, satin half-shirt and boxing gloves key them into the fact that there will be no bread sticks and salad refills.
* i'm in the lobby buying my 85th pbr of the week when chuck comes in the lobby to tell me the show has started. that fred tyson was helped onstage and someone is holding him in front of the microphone.
* this little man with a big presense shuffles around in a pair of tube socks, and white tennies that make his feet look like he's having perma puberty. he's chanting his personal catch phrase: freddy gonna do what he wanna do, fuck you.
* i realize that this is the unofficial kickoff to homegrown. anything i've seen before, anything i'll see later, is just strofoam packing peanuts wrapped around this act.
* when the show is over, freddy continues to greet fans holding the dead, unplugged microphone under his chin.
freddy gonna do what he wanna do ... from christa pista on Vimeo.
* we board the free trolley and head to rt quinlan's for cars & trucks.
* the trolley is great fun, with people chanting the obvious: trol-ley, trol-ley. and singing various bus-themed songs. it kinda feels like that moment senior year where the social infrastructure has been sanded down and everyone just likes each other and thinks everyone is wicked hilarious.
* quinlan's is packed. i tuck myself in by the popcorn machine instead of pushing to the front row. i already know i like cars & trucks, so i don't need to be in the front row. i can see tony bennett's hair from here.
* back on the trolley, destination luce for greg cougar conley's show. this is good stuff, but we have to get back to the orpheum to see bone appetite.
* our plan is to then return to luce for giljunko. but i'm slowly realizing that this band is going to suck the life out of me. that guy who was going to upgrade my cell phone package? he's changed into a pair of women's jeans and drawn on a mustache with a sharpie. roth ira is wearing a sweatband.
* fans are screaming along to "drive away." chuck's face is registering pure glee. if he could glow, he would.
* some kid is crowd surfing and dives from the stage.
* this makes me envious of all the bone appetite shows i didn't see, and the people who did.
* most homegrown acts last a half hour, forty five minutes. when bone appetite segues into a cover of "california dreamin'" i turn to chuck quizzically.
* "oh," he says. "they won't leave the stage until they're forced off."
* meanwhile, i have two bladderfuls, but i don't want to miss a thing.
* "they'll still be playing when you get back," he says.
sharpie mustaches ... from christa pista on Vimeo.
* i'm not a skittish bathroom person. my favorite bathrooms in the world are the one-stall wonders tucked into gas stations between here and rochester. the bathroom at the orpheum makes my uvula shiver with pre-barf anticipation. i'm wading through six inches of water, where most of the toilet paper in this room has landed. none of the stalls lock. i have no where to hang my coat. this is the most rudifying thing i've ever seen. maybe its the pbr, maybe its the rock and roll. i decide to become a bathroom rights activist and immediately begin searching for management.
* instead i find chuck, who nods compassionately, but senses i've lost my mind. "you missed paul lundgren singing with the band," he says.
* the show is over.
* we head back to luce to see trampled by turtles.
* there is a line outside of luce, filled with a pack of 21-year-olds whose enthusiasm for this week cannot match mine or chuck's. we take their drunkenness as an excuse to cut in front of them. they don't seem to notice.
* still, there is a bouncer to get past. he's eking people in one at a time as other's leave.
* "look," i tell him. "we're wearing wrist bands. we were already here tonight."
* "honestly! just a few hours ago we were booing greg cougar conley!" i add.
* he chuckles and lets us in.
* we beeline for the pizza-by-the-slice and leave after coating our throats in a bacon-chicken slice.
* we begin to walk home in the cold rain.
* we ask bone appetite for a ride, but they've crammed about seven people into a matchbox car. they seem open to it.
* we continue east by foot.
* for the second consecutive night, we try to watch the movie "trading places." "i think this is how we should end every night of homegrown," chuck says. eddie murphy. dan ackroid.
* i wake up sore. i think from the venue hopping and singalongs.