I've been very lazy the last week. The cold air, grey skies and intermittent, icy rain has not been highly motivating.
There has been a lot to write about. Letters in the Post Gazette. The verbal spanking (via email, so really it was in writing) I received from a friend because I did not know the difference between bread and pastry in Finland. Our purple living room. The behavior of a group of fans at the Raul Malo concert last Thursday evening.
Comedic letter of the week goes Friday's writer of the missive “Al-Qaida wishes”, in which the Democratic Party (or “Democrats” as he phrases) is depicted as maintaining parallel philosophies to Al-Qaida. To quote “It's getting harder and harder to draw distinctions between the philosophies of al-Qaida and the Democrats.”
Where to begin? How about suggesting that the members of Al-Qaida will not be posting letters to Santa since they are Muslim? That writing a reassuring lines like “... don't be frightened or disheartened, Democrats won't get their wish” is extremely dissonant when juxtapositioned with phrases such as “keep our collective foot on their throats”.
Wow. Way to win me over to your side, by repeatedly invoking images of violence. By the way, if Al-Qaida is being driven out of Iraq, why my brother been called up for a second tour of duty? Why is the Iraqi government proposing a permanent United States military presence? And why can't I stop laughing at you?
In contrast was Saturday's article about a Carnegie Mellon MFA student who created an unusual art project – she set up a website to reunite found gloves with their forlorn mates. Such a silly, lovely idea.
“Raul who?” was the response of approximately 90% of my friends when I mentioned that I was going to see Raul Malo perform at the Byham Theater on Thursday night. Pittsburgh is a strictly rock-n-roll/old heavy metal band type of town, so I was not surprised that most were not interested in seeing him play.
Unfortunately, that Pittsburgh's overall musical tastes lean toward “play Freebird man...” makes it difficult to find someone other than J willing to listen to a pudgy, balding, 42 year old latin/country/jazz singer with a voice like Roy Orbison and moves like Elvis. And J refused to go because he said he was not comfortable watching his wife blatantly lust after another man for two hours.
J reminded me that the wife of one of his former coworkers was also a big Malo fan and, like I, had been thwarted in her attempts to see him play on previous visits (at least once a year) to the city. B and I arranged to meet for a nice dinner beforehand and I happily ordered the best seats available for the show.
B had to cancel but found another friend to take the ticket. R and I met in the lobby of the Byham at 7:30, both excited to see the show. We had a “glass” of terrible Pinot Noir and found our seats at the back of the theater.
Malo opened with Marshmallow World, a fluffy wintertime song that got the audience in the mood almost immediately. Part of that audience included a gaggle of fifty-something women who were out for a good time. A REALLY good time.They screamed, they whistled, they yelled out comments. They danced at their seats and laughed hysterically. As the night wore on, they became more rambunctious, to the point that I expected to see various articles of clothing start flying towards the stage. The only thing that flew was a red santa hat, which the drummer wore as it matched his red suit.
The women kept their bras and panties on but were successful in distracting Malo enough that he forgot the lyrics and had to stop singing so he could find out what was written on the sign one member of the group was holding up. All five women got up from their seats and headed towards the stage. One carried the sign. The second carried a bottle of Patron Silver tequila and asked if Malo and his band would do a shot with the women. Malo and the band obliged. Far from satisfied with his conciliatory gesture, the screamed for him to do more shots of Patron for the rest of the show.
As for what would provoke that kind of response in a bunch of fifty-something women? A voice like Roy Orbison, moves like Elvis, a great stage presence and the sexiest cover of the song Sway I have ever heard.
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