ROCKING OUT TO THE 80s

I had been invited to two big events this weekend. The schedule really filled up quickly. Some good times were to be had. Unfortunately, I had not been able to accept either invitation (one Friday night, David's birthday party in Baton Rouge on Saturday night).

So that's why I considered it fate when I arrived at work Friday afternoon and learned that all but one prep game had been canceled. I still don't like Ike, but he certainly brightened up my weekend. Instead of finishing the shift after midnight, this meant I would be done around 10:40 p.m. I called Kelly and told her I could now make it to the Molly Ringwalds concert at Southport Hall for 11 p.m.

There are two problems with these concerts at Southport. First, the parking is a bitch and a half. Most people show up around 10 p.m. and pack the place. When I get there at 11, I usually park somewhere in the next area code and hitchhike to the building. Not so Friday night. I was able to park across the street from the back of the building, the closest I've ever gotten for one of these concerts. This was totally looking like a night of destiny.

The second problem is the smoking. There's hardly room to move, making avoiding smokers nearly impossible. My philosophy is: If you want to destroy your body, that's fine with me. Just don't do it near me. Of course, people could care less about second-hand smoke. But I tolerated it for two hours. For the sake of the Mollys.

I arrived at the building in the middle of the first song. I found Kelly and her friends inside some time during the third song. The 10th song was "99 Red Balloons," and bless their creative hearts, the Mollys released 99 red balloons into the crowd from a hangar above. After having a good time smacking the balloons that came my way, I decided to catch one and take it home with me. Maybe get a picture for the blog.

I knew the balloon would be difficult to hold on to for the rest of the night. What with all the dancing, the crowd size, Nicole (Kelly's bestest friend) staring at me like a weirdo and the time I had to go to the bathroom. But I made it my mission. An hour later, the balloon had become an extension of my hand. I was going to do this thing. I even had a vision of the next day.
Me: Check this out, mom. I got this balloon from the Mollys concert last night.
Mom: What the fuck did you bring that fucking thing home for?
Me: I thought it would be cool to hang on to it all night. Want to hit it back and forth?
Mom: Get the fuck out of here before I fucking pop that thing.

Then, it all disappeared in a flash. My mission. My red balloon. My dreams. This group of people walks by us, having just come from the bar. I pay no attention. That had been happening all night. Except this one cold-hearted bastard (CHB) takes out his pocket knife and thrusts it into my balloon. Pop! Then, he keeps on going like he didn't do anything. Like that was just a normal action. I start to follow him to give him a piece of my mind. Kelly cuts me off and holds me back. Probably a good thing. No need to be introducing my Jack Johnson to some CHB on this night of destiny.

The concert rocked. As usual. They played 35 songs (yes, I counted), including all my favorites (see The Daily Top List). It did suck that Bert wasn't there, but Kelly and I made due and got our groove on. The biggest drawback to the evening was not taking any pictures for you fine folks. For some reason, my camera was snapping blanks. The pictures were all black. I hit all the buttons to no avail. I discovered the reason Saturday morning. Somehow the lens got stuck and didn't open up when I turned on the camera. An easily correctable problem if you're astute enough to figure it out. But I'm an idiot. The battery died at the concert, anyway.

If the camera was functioning properly, I would have brought you such great shots as: 1) several pictures of those wacky cats in the band; 2) the massive dance line formed by all the girls for Footloose; 3) Kelly and Nicole tag teaming this random guy (who was hitting on Nicole) on the dance floor; 4) Me and the balloon; 5) The five friends of Kelly I never met before; 6) The CHB; 7) The Six Beers guy hitting on one of Kelly's friends (more on that later).

I'm sure you want to know if the night really became a night of destiny. I can't answer that question for you quite yet. Probably in an upcoming entry. Remember, patience is a virtue.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is gearing up for TV season. Who isn't? "They're coming out with some stupid fucking shows this year."

Mom is watching season 5 of CSI: Miami. "I see so many people that were on 24, Nip Tuck and CSI: Miami. It's un-fucking-believable."

I'm working on the blog before I go to bed Friday night. Mom is up for the day and reading Saturday's newspaper. "More fucking rain today. That's all I need." She's reading some story, and I hear her mumbling. "They got some real fucking idiots out there."

Mom was bitten up by mosquitoes Saturday afternoon. "Big ol' motherfucking mosquitoes. The bites aren't going away. I'm gonna have to drive myself to the fucking hospital."

A BUMP IN THE ROAD

I'm driving down South Carrollton toward Southport on Friday night. I catch the light at Jeff Highway. I'm behind one car in the middle lane. As the light turns green, a guy is in the process of crossing the intersection on his bike. The car in front of me doesn't see him. She puts the pedal to the medal until she sees the bike approaching. She slams the breaks. Meanwhile, the bike rider didn't take into account that a car would be taking off while he was crossing. He realizes he's about to be hit as the car comes to a complete stop in the intersection.

The guy on the bike also hits his brakes and slightly crashes into the car. He bounces off the passenger door as he lets go of his bike. None of the others cars have moved. I'm sitting there the whole time deciding if it would be inappropriate to take out my camera and snap. I also was thinking about the statement I would give the officer if the bike rider went splat.

The bike rider appears to be OK. He gives a quick glare at the car, gets back on his bike and pedals away. The car stays in the intersection, unsure of whether to keep going or tend to the biker. I'd say it was a tough call. It was mostly the driver's fault the biker crashed into the car, and the "accident" could have been a lot worse. But the biker didn't seem that mad and kept going on his way, content on not making a big deal about it.

Not wanting to waste more gas by catching the light again, I go around the car, which still is idle in the intersection. Obviously, I had to look at the person behind the wheel. I don't why we, as a people, always have to do that. What difference does it really make? But I can't help but do it. Besides, I know you want to know, and I couldn't disappoint you. It was a college-aged girl, and boy did she have a look of fear and concern on her face. I think she was reacting to how much worse it could have been. Hopefully, she's laughing about it today when she tells her friends.

TWO GUYS, A GIRL AND A CONCERT HALL

I don't remember the names of any of Kelly's other friends. I didn't really pay attention to their names. I'll never see them again. I already knew one of them, though. Let's call her the two-man woman (TMW). The first time I met the TMW, she was part of our Bourbon Street 13 on New Year's Eve. (You try keeping a group of 13 together all night in that crowd.) That night I also met her fiance.

I learn from Kelly Friday night that the engagement was called off. The TMW arrived to the concert with a date. Halfway through the concert, he was nowhere to be found, as she had turned her attention to dancing and flirting with a second guy (the Six Beers guy I mentioned earlier). I think this particular Six Beers also would be obnoxious sober. He quickly became intolerable. He was bouncing all around our area and off of people. He was trying to get into spanking contests with the other girls around us. Kelly was rolling her eyes at him so much, I thought I was going to get hypnotized.

After the concert, the group is talking on the benches outside Southport. The other girls are making fun of the guy who showed up with the TMW. One girl called him "nutless Ray." Apparently, he wasn't interested in competing for the TMW's attention and gave up. They were mocking him for not having the sack to fight for her. I felt bad for the dude. He thinks he's going on a date to a rocking concert, and the girl basically ditches him. That's bullshit. Turns out, Six Beers is also named Ray. What are the odds? The other girl said: "TMW, you have two Rays. Ray 1 is a pussy. Ray 2 is drunk, and we can't even find him (yeah, his friends were searching for him). I don't think either one is worth your time. Fuck 'em both."

Talk about mixed signals. (Note: Kelly told me after I left that the girl I just quoted went back inside and flashed for shots. As Les Miles would say, there are some quality girls in that group.)

PARTING SHOTS
Marcus contemplates sending me to Chinese Kitchen. He decides against it because I might get jumped and have my Red Meat jersey stolen.

Me: What if I tell them the jersey is a ripoff?
D: Then, they'd say it's about to be a ripoff again.

The next two took place at dinner Saturday night.
1) I'm in the process of trying to eat a whole pizza. (I didn't.)

JRap: Gene has the metabolism of a gerbil.
Bake: And the extracurricular activities of one too.

2) Jelly: If I were an outsider reading The Gene Pool, I would think I was the biggest perv in the office. (Silence for a few seconds.) Why isn't anyone laughing? (Note: Jelly has since invoked a vow of silence on such matters. The new Jelly started at 7:58 p.m Saturday. We'll be monitoring this one. I give it a day.)

There's a group discussion about our custom of calling it the neutral ground. D says he sometimes calls it the median.

D: Now that I've been exposed to it.
Liam: Don't expose yourself at all, D.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My favorite 5 songs the Molly Ringwalds perform.

5) Take Me Home Tonight. Eddie Money.
My favorite song to dance to with Kelly. Ironically, this isn't on their Web site's list of 145 songs they perform.

4) Separate Ways / Anyway You Want It. Journey.
They usually do one or the other. Separate Ways got the nod Friday.

3) Under Pressure. Queen.
Bert's personal favorite. Since he wasn't there, I called him and let him listen.

2) Living on a Prayer. Bon Jovi.
They let the crowd sing the chorus. I sit there the whole time at these concerts hoping this song is next.

1) Don't Stop Believing. Journey.
This is one of their closing songs, including last night. The popularity of this song among my generation continues to astound me. It comes on in the bar, people go crazy. Last night, they went crazy. I wonder if this phenomenon started when I made the power ballad the official theme song for the Year of Gene back in 2003.