Few things bring out suburban white families like alcohol and cover bands. For most of these folks this is the only live music they see all year and they just lose their shit. The bible-thumping stay at home Mom with four home-schooled kids, will sell her soul to the devil and flail around like Richard Simmons promoting "Deal-a-Meal", when the Dewey Beach party band breaks into "Livin' on a Prayer".
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Our typical evening starts with some pre-game at Jen and Bruce's crib. After we get our livers primed, we grab the folding lawn chairs and start the walk towards Mecca. The thud of the bass drum dances on the horizon, and as we get closer the knee-biters and skate rats start to multiply like wet Gremlins. The stroller parade is in full force as we get to the entrance and stake out a spot next to the walking path. We put the blanket down, arrange the chairs in a half circle, and our pit is ready for an evening of debauchery.
After several more cocktails, some chicken skewers and mediocre versions of "Jesse's Girl", "Semi-Charmed Life" and "Flagpole Sitta", the stroller parade packs up and heads out to put the young-ins to bed. Leaving behind the drunks and several large packs of roving tweens. As we hang out, a teenage kid tries to sell us a large Dominoes pizza for $5. I say we'll give him $3, and after consulting with his cohort he reluctantly obliges. Then, I hand him a five dollar bill and ask for change. Yes, I am a total douche, but that was pretty damn funny.
The sun is setting and this is usually the time when we start to make our way to the stage. The first three rows are packed with wide-eyed kids looking at the band like they are the sluts on "Rock of Love" seeing Bret Michaels for the first time. The next couple of rows are parents with younger kids on their shoulders holding beers and remembering what life was like before they decided to breed. We weave our way to a nice middle ground, and with our heads in a fog and our ears begging for more 80's rock, we regress to a time when hair bands, mullets, jean shorts and air guitars ruled the world.
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It's about this time that the wives have had enough and make their way back to the home front, reducing our pit of debauchery to just two lonely chairs and an over-flowing garbage can. We protest "How can you leave during 'You Shook Me All Night Long?', but they are unimpressed and head out anyway. Bruce and I look at each other say 'fuck 'em' and throw up the devil horns as "Rebel Yell" eminates from the speakers. A couple songs later Bruce and I look at each other again and realize the wives were right. It's time to abandon Betty from Accounting who is beyond drunk and air pole dancing (if there is such a thing) to "Hungry Like the Wolf".
Now getting to Herndon Live is easy, it's daylight and we are only slightly buzzed, if at all, but getting back is like playing a combination of Frogger and Pitfall with a broken joystick. The first hurdle is getting passed the aforementioned skate rats who are attempting "Jackass" like stunts to impress the girls who are feverishly texting on their cell phones. The second hurdle is crossing a busy intersection. A few times I have stumbled almost getting hit by a car, as Bruce laughs his ass off. The third hurdle is getting passed the smoke and crowd eminating from the local adult beverage establishment "Jimmy's". Getting through the cigarette smoke is easy, not going in while everyone is singing along to "Sweet Home Alabama" is the real challenge. The final hurdle is finding the strength to finish the walk back to the homestead.
We're finally home, but let's keep this train rolling. After party time yo! Fire up the iPod and rock out to the original versions of the songs we heard played earlier. The only thing better than hearing the Simple Mind's tune "Don't You (Forget About Me)" once, is hearing it twice. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Oooooohooohooh woooah". On that note, it's time to call it a night and pray that the pizzeria combos and bottled water will save me from praying to the porcelain god in the morning.
See you next Friday!!!
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