Saturday, March 1, 2008

I get by with a little help.

Words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe
I had agreed several weeks ago to join a few of my closest friends to go see a Beatles cover band known as the Fab 4. I like the Beatles as much as the next person. Assuming the next person is a passive Beatles "fan." And further assuming that "fan" means having their number one hits records and being able to sing along to the chorus of their songs on the radio. But interest in going to see a bunch of forty something year old men PRETEND to be the Beatles? Not so much. Still I agreed to go, mostly just because my friends are awesome and I like to hang out with them. Well, that and promises of alcohol.

When we arrived at the show, I was less than enthused. First of all, the venue was this wacky supper club type place called the "Canyon Club." Think pirates of the Caribbean meets an opium den. And if that wasn't bad enough - and trust me, it was pretty effing bad - the place is in Augora Hills, which it turns out is one of those far away places that need not be visited. Ever.

When the show started, my morale plummeted even further. As I watched four men prance around the stage in bowl cut wigs signing Can't Buy Me Love the thought "what the hell am I doing here?" ran through my mind quite a few times. But then, somewhere between Hard Days Night and Yesterday, something changed. Probably, it had a lot to do with the fact that I was two vodka and soda's deep. More so, though, I think it was just the infectious (in a good way) nature of Beatles songs. You basically have to be a terrorist or a vegan not to like them. Once I got past the absurdity of watching a band pretend to be another band, fake accents and all, I could almost imagine that I was hearing the Beatles live, or at could understand what it must have been like to have had that opportunity.

Pretty awesome I imagine.

And I can't lie, when they played With a Little Help From my Friends, I got a little choked up. I've been talking a lot about Evil Troll and how awful a person she turned out to be. But what I should be talking about is my true and dear friends who are so wonderful and who I really love. And who really do help me get by. So to all of those friends, near and far, (most of whom who will never read this because they don't know that it exists and the two that will read it) - thank you.

And finally, I am very curious how it must be to be the fake Ringo in a fake Beatles band.

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