23 March 2006
At a fund raising dinner my sisters organized for research into the healing properties of beer the other night one of the women in the crowd, who I did not know, asked me, "What's with the t-shirt?"
It is a t-shirt I do not wear often because when I do women eye ball the shirt with a faraway look in their eyes. They are thinking of their faraway goodie drawer at home when they see my shirt.
The shirt has a big pink 'V' silk screened on it as big as will fit on a large article of clothing. Above the 'V' are the words that drive women wild: The Vibrators.
I told her about the band, about how they rocked, but are unknown to rock 'n' rollers without the inclination to look past their local commercial radio stations for good sounds. As I was telling her this I could see she was reminding herself to pick up some batteries on the way home. I told her about how Knox, the guitar player, painted on the side and accepted a beer from a friend when he showed up early at the pub they played at some time ago. Knox told him, "It's early mate and I've got a show to do later but sure, beer me." I told her about how the drummer was an Arsenal supporter; that he sat at the back of pubs selling Vibrator gear before their shows. And the look in the woman's eyes just got further and further away every time I mentioned the word Vibrators.
When I had satisfied her curiousity, and then some I should think, she said, "I'm glad I asked. I thought you were a salesman."
Come to think of it, a man could do very well for himself, going around the pubs in a Vibrators t-shirt, a satchel of dream machines under his arm, in Sliverville anyway.