The weekend devoted to practice, a concert Sunday and the last concert Tuesday, today's post was originally posted almost a full year ago. I'll be back to writing new stuff soon!
I’m tired of being on the inside of my head. I need a new vantage point.
I want to be inside someone else’s head for a change.
For example, that guy over there. No, not that one. The one at the juke box. Have you been watching this guy?
“My man!” he shouts at the machine. In this case, it appears that George Thoroughgood is this guy’s “man”. One arm up in the air, faux-clutching what may be an imaginary lighter, our man at the juke box sways, enthralled. “B-b-b-b-bad to the bone!” he stutters.
He raises the beer he’s set onto the bar and pulls deeply from it. He belches. “Thazz mah dog,” he says to no one.
The next hour on the jukebox, however, is devoted, it seems, to the mid-80s; and we endure both the musical stylings of AC/DC and its Number One Fan.
“Done dirt cheap!” he bawls.
“Yeah, buddy,” someone at the bar agrees good naturedly. “AC/DC! Dirty Deeds!”
“Done dirt cheap!” yells/agrees our man at the juke box. He wanders over to where I’m sitting and jams an imaginary microphone in my face.
“Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap!” I yell into his fist. The crowd laughs and I raise my beer.
Unencumbered by sobriety or, unfortunately, a belt, he returns to the jukebox, clutching at his droopy drawers with one hand and using the other to alternately direct the music pouring out through the speakers or touch the screen to choose what turns out to be more AC/DC songs.
Now, I enjoy AC/DC as much as the next three-chord-strummin’ rock band, but do they have anything else?
A crowd has gathered around him.
What is going on inside that head, I wonder. What time did he start drinking? Is he imagining that the dancing and singing in front of the jukebox is drawing a crowd, not as a drunken spectacle but in admiration? Why doesn’t he own a belt?
Wait – some of these women actually do appear to be admiring him – so what’s going on in their heads?
Hmm. First I want to vacation in his head – and then I want to vacation in one of those women’s heads.
I'm going to need a change of clothes, a pack of smokes, and, shortly thereafter, a strong soap.
And if I don't make it out in one piece, come visit me at the jukebox.
I'll be Tom Petty and you can be Johnny Cash.
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