Enthusiasm, that is what I like, what I like more than anything in the world. I have been thinking maybe I was a little hard on the dumbfucks who got in on the Canuck Loser Riot. It may not have been the best fucking idea in the world but at least, once the first bottle got thrown, everybody who joined in, joined in enthusiastically. If you are going to have a fucking riot, might as well make it a good memorable one.
I have to admit, when I woke up on Sunday morning I was not feeling enthusiastic about motherfuck all. A few days worth of booze and biker speed can drain a man's tank so empty you cannot even smell fumes when you unscrew the lid. As my late morning coffee began to get me going I had to remind myself, "You only live once. That is your motto. Let's fucking go!"
Sonja was in pretty much the same place, for the same reason, minus the biker speed, which she says is dangerous shit to mix with the sex that gets PMS, as me. She was still half asleep, same as me, when I asked her, "You want to go downtown?"
"You want to go to the fucking track, don't you?" she asked back. Women are always asking shit back to you. If men knew the answer to even the simplest questions, the first thing we would do is stop electing political parties to fuck shit up for us.
"Well, yeah," I admitted, every bit as much as the Canucks want to win the Stanley Cup. I cannot help it if I limit my dreams to shit I can actually do. "First we'll get lunch on the Drive and after we'll stop in Maple Ditch. There's a low budget Woodstock going on in the bandstand there. DOA is headlining."
Sonja stared at me through her mirror sunglasses. I never know what a woman is thinking at the best of times but when they are wearing sunglasses I know even less than nothing about what is going on behind their pretty sad eyes. After a bit she said, "You load up the cooler with beer and wine and give me half an hour to get ready. And don't bug me if I take longer than that." A woman would not be ready for the end of the world if it were announced to be half an hour into the future. I figured if she were ready in an hour it would be a major accomplishment. Time to load the cooler, walk the dog, cut the grass and have a beer shit.
On the way downtown I tuned into Dope City's classic rock station. They were playing the top 100 classic rock songs of all time. We listened to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Neil Fucking Young sing "Woodstock." I do not know what to make of hippy shit like that any more. The Garden is so poisoned nobody wants to go back. It was number 88 or something. Next up was Black Sabbath's "Paranoid." Not sure how Black Sabbath ever got on the radio. Motherfuckers are too good. Why their big hit was number 87 and not number 1 is even more of a mystery.
As we drove, people with lop-sided trailers or backseats full of broken camping shit and dirty underwear zig-zagged through the rush back home to the city like the demented assholes they are. Sometimes I think it would be best if everybody fucked off and died.
Lunch on the Drive was good, if uneventful. I count on the people of Dope City to do stupid shit so I can write about it. They were letting me down, or so it seemed.
On our way back to the car somebody honked at somebody a millisecond too slow for them as a light changed green prompting the honked at driver to finger the hornhonker. The hornhonker then gave the guy in front of him the double finger and a loud, "Fuck you, you dirty motherfucking cocksucker!" Dope City drivers are so good at it they do not even need a steering wheel. It is no wonder the people of Dope City need to have a good riot every once in a while - they fucking hate each other.
The track was good to me again. Sonja told me which account to make the deposit to on Monday and we headed to Maple Ditch. The roads were pretty much empty heading east, like the way they were back when I was born. The motherfucking good old days.
We got to the bandstand in time to see the second to last band play. Ninjaspy. They were a bunch of young funky white boys. The crowd sure liked them. Liked them enough to run, like a riot was going on, around the bandstand, when they played one song near the end of their set. I liked that. Enthusiasm. Nothing beats it.
After a bit of a break, during which the fucking pigs harassed some skater for not obeying the booze or drugs rule everybody was mostly obeying, DOA entertained us. Fittingly, I thought, they began their set with "I Hate You." DOA has always been about enthusiasm, an enthusiasm mutually expressed by the mostly very young crowd. They sounded fucking excellent under the Manfred Schroeder acoustically engineered bandstand. Joe even said hello to this old fan of 32 years between songs. Fucking nice of him.
On the way home I asked Sonja, "Think anybody else has ever seen KISS and DOA in the same week?"
"I don't know Beer," she answered. "If there are any others, I bet they're all dead."