Saturday, my friend and I watched the Tar Heels shoot themselves in the collective foot, repeatedly, with a sawed-off shotgun made of toothpicks and SuperGlue, while guzzling bleach and sticking its pastel-swathed head in an oven.* In between catastrophic absurdities, we took careful and wary note of one of our neighbors.
He was dressed in head-to-toe Carolina, but was doing some sort of weird shadow puppet swan routine while making rooster noises. He claimed to be doing a Virginia Tech cheer. My friend and I turned to each other, and said, “Now I’ve seen everything! We can totally die now!”
I was wrong. Boy howdy. Because now, just a few days later, I’ve seen everything.
Last night, I went to the All City Air Guitar Championship at Wonderland Ballroom. This truly exists, and it is truly awesome. There were judges and scoring and prizes. There was a room full of enthusiastic fans. It was great. You should totally go.
I saw a guy attempt a scissor kick and bust ass right in front of the judges. I saw a man in an orange jumpsuit and plumber’s crack rock out. I saw a rather drunk young man strip down and boogie. I saw another man pull a beer bottle out of his pants.
I saw my date perform “Breakin’ the Law” in his undershirt with a tie around his head. Cold sober.
I’ve seen everything. I can die now.
Wait, is that a parade of giant fluorescent talking mice outside my window?
*With apologies to Sylvia Plath, because if you're gonna make a suicide joke, may as well go for broke.