william_miller

Chapter 47: Fun And Nudity In New England: A Wacky Journey Into Boston, Kentucky, and Beyond

Quotes of Wednesday:

"I just waited for him like this..." *motions slowly whacking a knife across her palm with much irritation* ~ Sid
or
*cute Japanese pop-rock sound* -- *SUDDEN heavy rock growl *-- *cute Japanese pop-rock sound* ~ Tsu Shi Ma Mi Re

Quotes of Thursday:

"I'm shining my peacock!" ~ Pat
or
"Let's build another house." ~ A video in Elizabethtown

So, how was it? How was it all? I was dehydrated, tired to the point of passing out, and completely malnourished by the end of Thursday night.

But it was worth it.

Now here's the explicit details. I don't have pictures, since it'd be fucking impossible to sneak a Digital SLR into the Middle East -- the thing's pretty damn big. So my mind and my words will have to make do.

Thursday afternoon, 4:00 PM. We leave Sanford. We leave "Bat Country". I find my battery light clicking on and off starting on the first leg of the trip -- it would shut off for a while, and then my normal dash light problems -- them turning on despite there being no trouble with the car -- return. What was more annoying, though -- was getting to Tobin Bridge. Take three guys who don't know Boston very much, give them Mapquest, and watch them roll around the city for nearly three hours until two "I give up" self-induced turns led us into the correct path, and eventually, the same trick worked to getting us right to the Middle East. We parked, and headed in.

Or rather, around.

I was standing in line; a Jesus freak tried to hand out comics to encourage us not to sin -- oddly normal at events like this. I saw a fluff of pink hair out of the corner of my eye, and a Jack Skellington backpack. A shiny mouth made me sure of who it was.

The line barely moved.

I almost said hi to Sid there, but didn't. Why? Because I'm shy.

Eventually the line did move; we were inside, with an hour and a half to go until the show began proper. We mulled around; as it got more crowded, I finally felt my balls grow and decided "hey, I'm not going to be able to say hi if I don't actually try", and thus my cohorts and I set off to find Sid.

We did; we said hi. We talked for a bit. I was still shy. Because, well, let's face it -- no one that little and hyper can ever actually be frightening. She was just silly and cute and reminded me way too much of one of my best friends.

We dived back into the crowd for the opener -- that Japanese Girl Rock band that we decided was not actually human but in fact were robots. So happy, so strange, but an incredibly talented band. Watching them sign and sell things at the table was half-surreal, half-hilarious. Robots they were, I swear it.

Then came Burlesque -- and all the tall people crowded around front. This sucked for me. It turned an R-rated flesh feast of fun and delight into a cable-TV broadcast version of it. I hate being just slightly too short.

I'm not sure if there's much that can be said about the Quentin Tarantino homage and "Hunter Dance" than they were absolutely spot-perfect.

I was in the crowd for most of this show; towards the end, my lungs burning from dehydration and after having watched a girl get carried out after she suddenly fainted, I retreated to the back. There I hoped to find something to soothe my lungs and from there, the rest of my body, which had become incredibly sore. But I couldn't find where they were serving water, so I stood there, and actually finally got to see some of the show.

Leaving took us fourty-five minutes and another "Well, we've tried to get onto the right street by going in circles so many times, let's try this one different route" stroke of luck.

Stopping in a Danvers gas station, I grabbed some water and Vanilla Coke. Ian drove the rest of the way home while I crashed in the backseat of my car. Ian doesn't technically have his license back, either. Ssssh. Don't tell anybody.

I woke up the next morning in "Bat Country", and drove home. Then to work. Then to the theater. I put together Elizabethtown. A wondrous film, filled with reality and fantasy in those perfect exact tucks. Orlando Bloom blew me away with his performance; it's unlike any that we've seen from him before. The movie is one that is made to wash over you, like the songs that are peppered near-perfectly through the picture. A co-worker of mine said it was "one of the best movies I've ever seen". See it. For it is Cameron Crowe, creator of my namesake and my favorite journalist/director in the world.

And now, I sit here, writing this to all of you.

Now I need some real food. Damn, I'm hungry.