Our friend T is in town, taking a break from the daily grind in Chicago, USA. This is not the same T that visited us last week (two weeks ago?)--he of the inability to convey schedules or even make a bloody phone call to tell us he's here--no, this is another T, he of the motorcycle which has been driven many miles in all directions. We are very happy to have him. I have in fact, been trying to convince this T to move here since I moved here myself. I believe he seriously considers it every time he visits. You see, Athens is a virtual mecca not only of fabulous music, but also of beautiful women, often scantily clad (especially in the current 100-plus degree weather, which is typical for this time of year, but no less painful each time it comes around), and often sporting guitars (twice as attractive as high-heeled shoes and scantily-cladness any day). This weekend is brimming with both types, and T is brimming with enthusiasm. God, I miss having him around.
So last night was the first official night of AthFest. We got some dinner at The Grit, which is a local vegetarian restaurant, because T and I are both vegtarian and both grew up on the South side of Chicago, a distincly non-vegetarian part of the universe (Remember The Jungle?). Even now, I find it difficult to explain to folks there that chicken is, in fact, meat.
After dinner we watched Five Eight(fabulous!!), and then a new band called Fabulous Bird (less fabulous, but pretty damned good). The sky started to look ominous at that point. The interesting (or perhaps completely typical) thing about that is that we havent had any fucking rain here in weeks.
So we need rain, but maybe the middle of our outdoor music festival isn't exactly the place for it. We return to the main stage area. awaiting The Fountains, who have moved to various points North but have returned to our fair city to reunite and give us all a bit of Woody Guthrie, right in the kisser. There is a certain poetry to the fact that it started pouring rain just as they started to play. The technical guys started running around covering everything with tarps, and several people ran for cover, but The Fountains continued to play, and their fans continued to watch, all the while getting soaked. We (the b.h., J, T and I) were able to seek shelter under the awning at Flicker (a great little bar), which provided us not only with a good view of the stage, but also a legal place to stand around and drink while watching.
The b.h. bolted for work in the middle of the shower, and the rest of us went inside between bands for a bevvy. We accidentally missed The Summer Hymns because we were all caught up in conversation, but were back outdoors in time for Modern Skirts. They are the Band Most likely To in Athens right now, and they showed everyone why last night. Fucking brilliant. We stood in the rain (we'd had drinks by then, remember) and watched their whole set. The funniest thing about this set is that many of the Skirts' fans are of the blockheaded fratty type. If watching sorority girl walking on ridiculous platform heels is amusing in dry weather, it is downright side splitting in the rain.
Imagine, if you will, a young girl in a skirt the size of a postage stamp, in a shirt that she has no breasts with which to support (I'm sure that phrase is grammatically irresponsible, but hey-I'm on a roll), and shoes that only a drag queen or a stripper can reasonably navigate. She has spent hours picking this outfit, one of several hundred that her daddy bought her, varying only slightly in color and style from everything else she owns and will discard within months, and more hours on her hair, which at this point resembles a sticky bird's nest, and her makeup, which is now running down her pouty little face (because it is verboten to either carry an umbrella or wear any sort of rain gear--not slutty enough). So this girl is storming down the street, probably angry that it had the audacity to rain tonight, or perhaps that she has been left behind by her "friends." She is pissed, and she is walking as quickly as she can, despite the fact that with each step her heels slip from the back of her hideous and incredibly tall shoes. I stand and smirk, silently hoping that she will wipe out (make no mistake, I am a terrible cunt sometimes), and remembering a phrase I'd read earlier in the day: "There is no better sight in life than that of a crestfallen twat."
Well said, jb, and twats come in many forms. No "football" here for two more months, though. Thank the gods.