Friday night I missed the Good Neighbor Policy to scope out John’s Dad’s band Running on Empty, a Bozeman-based cover band. They played in the H-town Civic Center, which has to be one of the oddest buildings I’ve ever been in. Huge stage, chandeliers, and tons of older folk, but good times nonetheless.
Bill, Sean, John and I acted out the role of roadies, though not until after the guys finished up at about 1 a.m. Between 9 and that time the four of us had some drinks, some dances with the groupies traveling with the band (their “wives” we were told), and watched the funniest thing in the world: Open Shirt Man (OSM).
OSM came to us with a sad tale. Apparently after 22 years of marriage he learned that his wife had had a boyfriend of 25 years. Totally lame, but I doubt its authenticity. The only obviously factual aspect of OSM came from his willingness to be the King Tool of the night by grabbing at the asses of the groupies, which their husbands could spy from their spot up on the stage.
The best way to describe OSM is a mixture of Colin Farrell and John Goodman – a big sack of hair and bad flopped into a white frat boy shirt with a crucifix on a chain. John, however, thinks the guy was going for a Tim McGraw look (He missed it). I cannot describe what a huge tool this guy was. The kind of guy I sometimes find myself fearful of becoming when I’m awake late at night.
I don’t think I’ll ever be afraid of it again as I could wake up every day, suck a little more, and never equal the terribleness of OSM.
Though I missed hitting the Badlander and getting some much needed time with GNP and others, I at least got to see this guy…well, John’s Dad described it best on Saturday morning while sitting in the hot tub:
“I saw him from the stage and I was just amazed.”
Exactly. Truly amazing man. He had the rhythm of a white guy with the stolen moves of a Kris Kross video. It was like watching that footage of nuclear tests…just a big mushroom cloud and an expanding wave of bad. It’s how I imagine hell, but with less Christian overtones.
Whenever OSM asked for the hand of one of the groupies the ladies were too nice to turn him down, mostly because I think they bought his sob story. As he’d lead them to the dance floor, his sweaty body rippling with joy, they’d glance back and give a look at the group like, “HELP!” One of the groupies, tired of my guffaws at her pain hauled off and slapped me for my insolence, but it was a nice slap.
Though we grabbed a few pictures of OSM, they can’t do the man justice. His badness permeated every bit of his existence, and while a picture tells a thousand words, you’d need at least a book to tell his tale.
On the ride home to John’s cabin on Canyon Ferry he and I had a long talk about OSM, about aging and having everything in your life change. We noted that if OSM’s story was true, and that he had lost his wife after 22 years, that sucks and we could only pity him. For OSM life used to be couples and work, now it’s being that single guy who needs to crate his own good time or fall to the ravages of loathing. Sad. Depressing. We vowed never to turn out like him, and like I said earlier, I think it’s near impossible to actual become as lame as OSM.
Running on Empty played a pretty good set of covers that got the people moving and grooving to the hits of the sixties, and it raised a lot of money for a local charity. So in the end the night was worth it even though I missed GNP (Alisia took some pictures and sent me a few texts reminding me of how badass the band is…she’s kind of mean like that). Laughs and tunes will always be worth the ride.
Plus I got free chicken Parmesan courtesy of John’s Dad…who’s name is John also.
Saturday was different altogether….
Instead of going out we all just hung around John’s cabin hot tubbing and drinking beer, especially Bill. Some of his better (worse?) moments from the night:
• After saying he dressed in drag in high school: “I looked like a fat girl, but I could totally pull it off.”
• “I’m-in not dern…I’m fine.”
• “Why do I want to be in my room?” I explain he should pass out. “Will do.”
• Standing over the toilet: “I’ve vomited.”
• A different time standing over the toilet, this time with his arms whole of vomit covered toilet paper: “The lid was closed…I didn’t notice it at first.”
• “How did I get from the hot tub to me bed?” I explained that I just pointed him in the direction and he went. See earlier comments.
Some of his friends who live in Helena came up to enjoy the cabin as well, though honestly we didn’t talk a whole bunch even though we were sitting around a lot. At least it didn’t feel like a long time talking. Maybe it was. As far as Bill’s huge amount of booze, I blame myself. I encouraged him to drink a six-pack in a hot tub and didn’t stop him from drinking an awful lot of bourbon. But he seemed in good spirits this morning.
For all the time I spent in the hot tub this weekend, maybe about 6 hours total, my shoulder hurt a whole damn bunch. And I’m tired from the whole trip since we didn’t sleep nearly enough. This would bother me if it weren’t for the whole unemployed thing.
Today Sean, John, Bill and I all had brunch at our friend Sarah’s house. She made a huge amount of food and we ate way too much of it, but she and her husband seemed happy to have the company. I guess Helena isn’t a huge amount of fun when you’re young, which is why four dirty idiots grubbing at your pad seems like a treat.
But it was fun and we had some laughs. Then it was just a long ride back to Zootown (Holla), and my bed, which is where I am headed until a little later tonight when last night’s movie watching plans can actually happen. Should be fun. I’ll see you tomorrow kids.
3 comments:
The Groupie slap! Now that's rich. Thanks for the well-timed rescues and the laughs. My sides still hurt--lingering reminders of late night guffaws. Or wild OSM moves?
Who lassoed the "real" OSM story?
I heard it third hand from John's son John – the one with the full beard.
It was fun to have you four grubby idiots over. I guess you'll have to come again
Post a Comment