This one's for Vinz Klorthos.

Last weekend, I went to the bar to pick up a friend who had one too many to drink. I really don't mind, as i'd rather be sure they get home safe than they risk it. But that's beside the point.

At this bar, there was a band setting up. Being a sometimes musician, I gave their gear a once over: decent drums, guitar, bass, a line six amp (Ewww..). Overall, not bad. There was a guy on stage with his back towards the crowd, but he had something strapped to him. I assumed it was another guitarist. Until he turned around. It was a keytar.

Now, there's a certain stigma associated with the keytar. It's often viewed as a slightly cheesy throwback to the eighties, and with good reason i suppose. However, the fault lay not in the instrument, but the wielder.

There are generally two types of people who use keytars. What it comes down to is how the person approaches the keytar.

One of them fully embrace and propagate that stigma. To them, they keytar is a cute, ironic little gimmick. These people are more often than not scene kids who arent' even old enough to remember -or to have even been alive during- the keytar's heyday. These people are less than men. They are unable to please their lovers, so they often stealth their way into petting zoos with a jar of Vaseline and a handful of peanut butter.

The other type of keytarist views the stigma as somethign to be overcome, something to be conquered. They realize the deck is stacked against them, and yet they bravely take the stage, prepared to give it their all. To them, they keytar is like a crysknife: once it is drawn, blood must be shed. These men, upon the shedding of their mortal coil, will be carried to Valhalla by the Valkyrie to the soothing sounds of Herbie Handcock and Jan Hammer.

My Brushes with Celebrity

Over the weekend, I was in the grocery store - the produce aisle to be precise - when this guy comes up to me.

"Hey man, aren't you the singer from Shotgun Sodomy?"

Yes. Yes I am.

We go through the usual question/answer routine: Yes, we broke up. No, i'm not doing anything right now. yes, i'm looking, etc...

The guy then turns to his girlfriend and tells her we were his first live show when he was seventeen, we're brutal, etc...

All the while, i was there tapping tomatoes for ripeness.

Looking back on it, I can't help but laugh.


However, this was not the strangest place I've ever run into a fan. There are two others - one was simply akward, the other just weird - that really stick out in my mind.

This summer, I was at the drive in with a bunch of friends. The drive inn we go to shows double features, so there's an intermission. During the first feature, i'd sucked down a large soda, and as a result I really had to piss.

As usual, there was a line at the men's room. No big deal. But while i'm waiting in line, these two kids walk up to me, looking like they're scared. They were seriously shaking in their boots. The leader of the two clears his throat and says "Are...are you the uh, singer from Shotgun Sodomy?"

Yes. Yes I am. I put on a friendly face, because I really do get a kick out of meeting fans outside of a show/club/bar setting. I try to be approachable, because I'm no rock star. I'm just some asshole who's been playing in the local scene longer than anybody of sound mind ever should.

The kid asks me for some advice, so I give him some; don't play a battles of the bands, you don't need promoters, Your word is the only thing you have...a few other things too, but those were the big ones.

The line starts moving, and we get closer to the porcelain beauty of the thrones. We start talking about influences and music in general. (Taco can attest that once i start talking about my influences, I'll go on forever.)

Closer now. The urinals are in sight. Glory be!

Finally, my turn comes up. I bolt to the urinal and unleash the fury...and the kid keeps talking to me.

He's telling me about his band and how he does vocals and guitar and he's waiting for his friend to move back to play bass and a guy from his class playing drums and how they mess around in the garage playing Lamb of God covers and how his dad taught him to play guitar

Flag on the field. Breach of urinal etiquette. Five yard penalty. There I am, junk in hand trying to do the business, and this kid is telling me his life story. I'm standing there, praying things wrap up soon so I can be on my way out the door and lose the guy.

Long story short, I finished up and bolted out the door, ducking between a pair of SUVs. I am the drive-in ninja.

Again, this was not the oddest place i've run into a fan. The oddest place was in a twenty-four hour porno shop.

There's a little setup for this one, so bear with me: A friend and I were going a club to see another friend's band play. On the way to this club, there's a 24 hour porn shop. We've gone to this club several times over the years, and we always joked about stopping in the porno shop on the way back. So, this night we actually did.

It should be noted that my friend was wearing his Shotgun Sodomy t shirt.

I had no money, so I was just sort of idly walking through and giggling at the movie titles (Sold my Hole for Rock N' Roll still makes me laugh) when my friend calls me over. I go to the counter, where the cashier is staring at me.

He points to the shirt. "Is that your band?"

I nod. "yeah"

"Dude! You guys are fucking awesome!"

I blush. "Thanks!"

"Seriously! I saw you guys at Annabell's with Drogheda! I'm a big fan!"

I blush more. "Thanks."

"Can I have your autograph?"

"Uh..sure."

He hands me a piece of paper (with the porno shop's logo as a letterhead), and I stare at it for a moment. I've never had to sign an autograph before. What the fuck do I write? I was confounded, so I wrote something generic. "Thanks for listening" or somesuch, then signed it and handed it back.

Awkwardness over, right? Nay, sir.

"Can you do one for my wife, too? She loves you guys!"

Blink. "Ok"

So I sign it the same way as I did the other and hand it over.

Man, that was kind of awkward.

Awkward?

This! Is! PORN SHOP!

"Now, can you sign one for my wife's friend?"

Stare.

"Uh...sure." Another letterheaded paper, signed the same and handed over.

Then I'm standing there, staring at the clerk, waiting for him to ask me to sign another. Instead, he smiles and give me a heart felt "Thank you!". We shake hands, and he turns to help the person who was (so very patiently) waiting in line behind us.

I take that as my cue to get gone, so we get out back into my car and laugh about it the whole ride home.