all the way live - #13

Queens of the Stone Age - Carnegie Music Hall of Homestead

i’m about to pass the FBI building when i see a rather stylish, late-model black SUV pulled over in an adjacent lot. a young woman, business casual, is hunched over and vomiting brown in a steady stream. momentarily, an athletic young man will round the corner of the FBI lot, looking like he’s out for a Friday evening jog. but in reality, the chick puking from the SUV is being watched and her evening is about to take a serious turn for the worse.

before i left my place, i suspected the same thing.

the Doktor was in charge of the tickets and the ride to the show. since i was 60% sure he wasn’t fucking around, all i really worried about was the lack of alcohol that we would face at the venue. some asshole thought having the Queens play in an old library would be a good idea. fuck that dude. and since they just started hosting shows, an alcohol license was highly unlikely. but that was just a small hurdle, though, really. getting there was what i was most worried about.

“i got us a ride,” the Doktor said, “there they are. just keep your mouth shut and don’t be a fuckin’ asshole. it’s only a fifteen minute ride.”

fifteen minutes later, i remember hearing something like, “you fuckin’ asshole!!! you should have kept your mouth shut!!!!”

“what was that about?” i said.

“thanks a lot. now how are we gonna get back. that girl was kinda…”

“fuck that man. you got my ticket?”

“i got your ticket, don’t worry. and what am i supposed to do with this again?”

“try and tape the show. i’d take it in, ya know, but i’m loaded down with cough syrup and knives. when the band starts playing just make sure the tape is running. you can keep it in your pocket or something. it should work. better than nothing, i guess.”

“alright, whatever.” he ripped some tickets apart – you know how they come in the mail with the perforations – and handed me one of the smaller pieces. “if we get split-up, i’ll meet you…”

“you ain’t meetin’ me anywhere, motherfucker. we ain’t got no ride.”

“you fucked that up.”

“that's not how i remember it.”

“just meet me down on the front street somewhere. this place looks shady. there’s open-air drug transactions all around.”

i breathe deep. “i love it,” i say. “maybe i’ll move here.”

“hear that? it’s them. let’s go.”

he scurried up the steps ahead of me and shot the finger backwards as he passed the ticket-taker. before i handed the teller my ticket, i noticed the Doktor standing in the lobby, looking back at me and waving a ticket above his head.

“this isn’t a ticket,” the teller said.

“the fuck you mean that ain’t a ticket. i paid…”

“what i mean, sir, is that this here – what you just handed me – ain’t no ticket. it’s your address.”

“it ain’t my address.”

“well, it’s someone’s address. it’s the header Ticketmaster puts on the strip of tickets you purchase. this is not a ticker for admission. i'm sorry.”

and she went on a few minutes like that. it didn’t matter how much i protested either. she wasn’t letting me in.

“i’m gonna blow this motherfucker up, then,” i said, “and DON’T send the motherfuckin’ punk police to my house, neither.” it was the Doktor’s vitals on that ticket header. with any luck, he’d be arrested, drawn, and quartered within the hour.

i went around to the library entrance and asked the librarian where they kept the porn. confused, she sent me to one of the stacks and called security. i booked it into the bathroom, crawled through the drop ceiling, and made my way into the auditorium by way of the Ladies’ room just in time to catch the Queens of the Mother Fucking Stone Age go into “Misfit Love.”

the security was as tight as i’d ever seen it at a concert. they weren’t allowing anyone to dance, to stand in the aisles, to stand on their seats, to rip up the flooring, nothing. i managed to get down on to the floor, but i spent most of the time dodging security and looking for the Doktor, who was nowhere in sight. i swear to Christ, i would have stabbed him if i’da found him.

i will tell you this though…i will tell you this. when they played “In the Fade,” it was a positively transcendent experience for me.

soon after they finished, a security guard approached me and barked in my ear, “you’re gonna have to get to your seat or go back up into the balcony. you can’t stand here.”

“i fucked your mother,” i said but i don’t think he heard me cuz he said “what?”

“my seat’s over there,” i said, pointing to the middle of the auditorium floor. “i can’t get to it.”

“don’t give me that,” he said.

“that’s not what you’re mother said earlier.”

it was right around then that he and a few of his buddies threw me outside. i know i’m a big dude and all, but they didn’t have to do me like that with a nightstick. they really didn’t. that shit was uncalled for. when i came to, i caught the Doktor coming from around the back of the place. looked like he ate a pile of shit.

“what are you grinning for?” i said.

“what the fuck happened to you? you look like hell. like, worse than usual.”

“why’d you do that with the ticket?”

“aww man, i knew you’d get in.”

“it was good, right?”

“huh? oh, i don’t know.”

“you don't know? you tape it?”

“i taped something.”

“well let me hear…”

i wished i wouldn’t have asked. there was some rustling, and then some slurping noises. “yeah baby, that’s it. now…now lick my balls. OWWW!!! SHIT!!! i said suck the motherfucker. you bitin’ it, shit!!!”

“what is this?" i said.

“fast forward it a little bit,” the Doktor said, “you ain’t even heard the part where i tell her ‘here comes the hot sauce!!!’”