Living is an art and i'll freely admit most people are complete shit at it... granted i can't say i haven't lead a bit of a charmed life, i mean i went to college and got a degree i've never used then became a criminal and worked my way up to the point where i didn't need a "legit" job and had more money than i knew what to do with... walked away from that and into a supposed "real job" which had me working at most maybe four hours a day? while the rest of the time i spent reading books, sleeping and handicapping horses (as well as intermittent bouts of drinking and drugging while on the clock) and once i was laid off from that job i became a stay at home dad now part time gig economy serf... as Pops used to say to me, boy you somehow fall out of bed and land on your feet... Pops always had a way... which brings me back to that living thing...
It's been well documented and i freely admit my favorite band ever is The Smiths, yes there are a few close seconds (see Joy Division fronted by the I-mac's namesake) but if pressed for a favorite it's no question at all, The Smiths... so when when i saw good old Morrissey was coming to town, though i vowed not to give him any more money, the fanboy in me could not resist and so i bought a ticket (with insurance in case he cancelled) and said to myself why the fuck not? enjoy this fucking mortal coil as it will all be over sooner than you think...
The day of the show i was single parenting so to speak as the BW was out of town for the weekend with her brother and ailing father... call me a fucking cad but the fact was it was a well earned break for our hero here, but there were things to get sorted, making sure Disaster had what he needed and what not but at his age it's not like i worry about leaving him home alone, the boy is a wise one... needless to say i was working out how to get down to the swanky theater that Moz was playing, the very same place Bob Marley played his last show, which is ironic considering Morrissey's old utterance of "reggae is vile", something the rest of The Smiths wholeheartedly disagreed with and as we know Mozza loves to utter controversial shit just for the hell of it... so while i debated transport, checking train schedules and the like it dawned on me it might be best to actually drive down but since i didn't want to pay the exorbitant amounts of cash on parking, preferring to save it for a few fine Mexican beers, i sat scratching my head and thinking and then remembered the bus station was a few blocks walk and since it was another gorgeous stretch of weather i checked it out... it would cost me exactly .50 cents more to park at the bus garage than take the train, problem solved...
Why do i mention the bus garage? well like any city bus station there are always interesting characters about and this night was no different... having eaten a bit of edibles and carrying my trusty weed pen, i made my way to the show, singing songs and drinking my water (hydration is key you know), parked and was being the typical stoner and making sure i had everything i needed i noticed a person two cars over, a car that looked quite possibly that said person might have lived out of the vehicle... i looked over smiled to see a large trans person getting out of their car as well... being a tall white male in Dumbfuckistan i understand the trepidation any who doesn't look like me has when they see someone like me and i've learned that the best way to let them know i'm cool is to smile, a genuine friendly smile.. and so i did smile and said hello, then made my way towards the stairs...
It was at this point the person behind me asked, do you know where the stairs are? and i said yes i do, follow me... we then struck up a conversation, we discussed our plans with my new friend telling me they were going to a certain club, a prominent gay club in the city and i could tell it was their first time, there was a nervous excitement and they discussed how it should be an interesting evening and i laughed and said isn't that why we leave the house? it was nice to put my new friend at ease and as we hit the bottom of the stairs and the street corner i explained which direction they needed to go and they invited me to stop by the club later, i smiled politely and said that was a lovely offer but that afterwards i needed to get home and check on my son... i then said that i hope they have an great night and enjoy the club, my new friend was beaming as we said goodbye... kindness... we need more of it...
If the show wasn't sold out it was damn near, i didn't see a spare seat and of course i bought one on the aisle for my fucking long legs... Mozza playing the swanky places means i get a seat... once inside i made my way to the booze queue where i struck up a conversation with a swell guy from Northern Ireland who had actually caught The Smiths way back at the Hacienda before it was the Hacienda... i think i experienced something called gig envy or some such emotion but he was a swell chap and we had a good craic as we waited for our booze...
There was no opening band per se but a film of what could only be described as Morrissey's influences, of course being a dolt i missed the first 15 or so minutes of it much to my regret as once i took my seat it was fucking brilliant... old clips of the New York Dolls, Bowie, the kitchen sink films of Steven's youth, some old punk bands, snippets of various writers speaking, it was roughly 40 minutes and at the end there was a picture of James Baldwin flashing on the screen and it's a well documented fact how much i love Jimmy... and then out strolled the band and the man...
I had jokingly posted on a social media site that the over/under on the number of times El Kono would cry during this show was 3.5 and damn if i don't have a potential career as an oddsmaker in my future... the official count was four but it might have been more like six or maybe it was just one as i was misty-eyed through the whole fucking thing... having cheated and checked the setlist i was hoping it wouldn't change and it didn't, in fact if one would have asked me to write a setlist 16 of the 19 songs played would have been on it... for a fanboy like me it was practically overwhelming...
To lead off with There's a Light that Never Goes Out... seriously? the song most would think would be the encore... it took almost ten seconds before my eyes were welling with tears and i just sat transfixed at the song that a 16yr old El Kono would listen to on cassette while lying in bed and staring at the ceiling dreaming of meeting some young lady who loved this band as much as he did... through the course of the night he played some of my most favorite tracks, I Know it's Over, the second time i've seen this live also had me wiping at my eyes... Half a Person, are you fucking serious? to steal a line, i just might die with a smile on my face after all... Shoplifters of the World Unite, I Won't Share You... i was floored... not to mention the solo stuff, There's a Light was followed by Suedehead... an excellent Life is a Pigsty (also the second time i caught that live) Jack the Ripper, First of the Gang to Die, The Loop, Let Me Kiss You... fucking hell... i was on the end of a row filled with 40-50 something women who i have a suspicion got a good giggle out of the tall man in the end seat basically overcome with emotion for most of the set, the woman next to me smiling, hugging me and asking if i was alright to which we both had a laugh... what a top fucking night... how good? i actually wanted a fucking cigarette when i walked out... when live music is better than sex... that's a fucking good night out...
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Fast Forward... Saturday morning i checked the telly schedule and as usual the shitbags at NBC were showing one of the less attractive fixtures that morning meaning Palace v. Liverpool would be shown on the Peacock pay service... when NBC first acquired the rights they made a big hullabaloo (not often one gets to use that word) of stating they'd never charge to see matches, which we all knew was bullshit and after a couple of years they began charging for matches... it was around this time that matches the neutrals would be most interested in, the ones between big clubs, were suddenly never shown on the "free cable" networks which at the time worked out great for me cuz it meant Palace was on more... so seeing how the game wouldn't be on i went out in the morning to do some gig economy serfing only to discover the game was on satellite radio! so i did my couple of batches to pay for weed and vinyl and listened as the Palace held a one-nil lead late into the second half... including a shot off the post that would have made it 2-nil and me knowing the game like i do thinking that would come back to bite us on the arse... and it did when the Scousers equalized... by this time i was back at home listening and hoping that the coverage would switch to this game when the one being shown ended and low and behold it did...
The coverage began with 8 or so minutes plus stoppage time to go... i've supported Palace since 1997 when i made a pledge to my brother Gulfboot Johnson to support his football club... little did i know the serendipity the universe was tossing into my lap as being a kid from Cleveland, the veritable home of hapless sports franchises, i would come to support one that fit nicely into that very category... a little over a decade later i'd be staring down the at the reality my club, which i had come to love like it was my own child, would be dissolved due to financial problems, so bad that we couldn't play our star player less he get hurt and the Rent Boys not shell out six million quid for him... which they did shortly thereafter...
Granted being a Palace fan is never easy, to steal now from a new film, it's one battle after another with now the goal being to stay in the Premier League... and after clawing our way up in 2013 we've managed to have the best run in club history staying in the top flight instead of being one of the yo-yo clubs bouncing up and down.. of course back in 2010 and after a ten point deduction we squeaked by relegation into League One... and of course we did it in dramatic fashion on the last day of the season... for the past decade and change i've celebrated every time we become mathematically safe.. what other sport can one celebrate finishing twelfth? as Cantona once said, i love football...
But things are different now though always tenuously balanced... we've lost super players (Olise, Eze, Zaha and very soon most likely Guehi) and the fact we're doing so well, a European best 19 unbeaten until the blue Scousers got a bit of luck, that now every player seems to have interest in them from one of those vulture capitalist "big" clubs, not to mention the shitbags of Man United eyeing up our gaffer when they eventually sack theirs...
There was a time when giving up a late goal we would sit back and hold on for dear life, cling to the point as they say and that would be a good result... not under Super Ollie Glasner, no fucking way! we kept playing and working and with stoppage time winding down a long throw into the box by Lerma, a couple of headers and before you knew it the ball had found Eddie Nketiah, a man so in need of a goal it was criminal... and Eddie took a lovely first touch and then volleyed it past Allison... game over, three points, my whole neighborhood probably thought i'd won the lottery as i let loose with howls of celebratory shouting... in just 36 hours it had been a fucking helluva a weekend...
And then came Sunday night... in a week of weirdness the weirdest was yet to come... and though that's not exactly the right word maybe it was most apt for the head space that ensued... it could be summed up in one word, one name actually... Veronica. (to be cont.)
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