tripping on a roll with a paper ticket

On June 30 I purchased a ticket to see the Stone Temple Pilots play on the Williamsburg Waterfront on July 25. I'm not the biggest STP fan, but when a band of that magnitude plays a mile away from your neighborhood, you go and see them. Unfortunately Bill was unavailable that night, but Greenpoint metalhead Diana accompanied me to keep the douches¹ in line.

I have a special connection to STP thanks to a pot-smoke-filled night of karaoke during 2008's Labor Day weekend. The host, who I believe is Colombian, sang "Plush" en español. It was hysterical: ¿Dónde vas para mañana? ¡Buscando! ¡Buscando! ¡Buscando! I have since performed the translated material after many a drink on other karaoke nights. One night in particular, someone who's Mexican told me I did her language justice. I can barely pronounce English words correctly and may be the only person whose Brooklyn accent comes out when I speak Spanish, but it doesn't matter in song.²

A week before the STP performance, Ticketmaster e-mailed me a reminder -- as if I needed one. I had only been blabbing about going since the day I bought the ticket and was even more buzzed since I was able to get my hands on something that would enhance the concert. Turns out I was impatient (like always) and took said enhancers on Friday night.

That Friday, if you remember, was dreadfully hot. I had plans to see a musical in New Jersey in which a colleague (nicknamed Fresh Meat since he's an intern) was performing. I decided not to travel back to Joisey and instead attended Word's matchmaking night co-sponsored with the Brooklyn Kitchen at Diamond Bar. Though I am certainly off the market -- staying single is safer for me and everyone else -- I had no idea if anyone would show up and thought I could have fun without breaking hearts. I introduced myself as Ginger and said that my favorite pie was cheesecake. (It has a crust!) I also wore a kick-ass red halter dress.

Around ten the event disbanded, but I was just getting started. (Speedy little suckers.) Biking six miles to the Bell House, completely aware I was going to have to bike six miles back, seemed like the perfect idea, especially since Twitter buddy Ben (@misterdisco) was DJ-ing there. Again, I went to show support, not to actually take part in the dancing. And I did not dance until a girl who looked like she was on more stuff than I was asked me and someone I was chatting with to dance "the last dance" per tradition to send off the DJ.

Since the Bell House is also a frequent Skint hangout, we got in touch and he arrived just as there were rumblings of Amanda Palmer being present. She was, and I washed my hands in the bathroom as she was splashing some water on her face.

The next night I dined with the Heathers to Manetta's in Long Island City. Before heading to to the beach with Rowan and Diana Sunday morning, the Brooklyn outpost of Trader Joe's called to inform me that I had won a $25 gift certificate for re-using grocery bags.³ After napping on the beach, which was much cooler than my bed had been all week, I enjoyed caipirinhas with the UCB1PSCLA, the Unofficial Ladies Auxiliary group of Greenpoint-Williamsburg that was formed after this infamous outing.

Suffice it to say that it was an incredible and amazing weekend, which was just going to get better on Monday thanks to STP.

Tweets of the night:

• Alkies are separated from the druggies who dosed before the show, which I believed was crucial at keeping the douches away from us.


• Firemen just showed up. Be still my heart! I really wanted to ask if they would be able to enjoy the show instead of be "on duty."


• If I feel like dancing to the opening act, then this stuff is working too quickly! Unfortunately didn't get the timing right, but I was still up all night.


• A Jimmy Buffett shirt? Really? Who are you impressing?


• Many dads here with sons younger than I am. It's cute. Bill and his son belonged there.


• They're testing the lights! Holy shit this is going to be amazing! And it was!


• Woman told me she loves my haircut, its authenticity makes her happy. I'll have what she's having! Strangest compliment ever, but I'll take it.


• Not minding the second-hand high. I'm not a stoner, but this is responsible drug use right here. First time ever I have not minded marijuana smoke.

Add Brooklyn, NY -- not Williamsburg ferchrissakes!


STP opens with "Crackerman":


Scott doesn't need two turntables with his microphone:


Before the inevitable "Plush" -- which I did not sing in Spanish -- the band jams Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side":


Loved the lights:


STP closes with "Dead and Bloated" followed by "Tripping on a Hole in a Paper Heart":


The band says good night at 10pm sharp, which is why I got tickets to another show, serendipitously the day before Bill's birthday:


Since Monday I've been listening to as much STP as I can get my hands on, including Velvet Revolver -- I never was a fan of heroin chic, but Scott Weiland does skinny better than Mick Jagger or David Bowie, probably because he still looks like a guy -- and if I have half as much of a good time September 10 in New Jersey, it'll be a successful night. One request, though, boys: "Dancing Days."

¹ The Greenpoint Gals have an affinity for the word "douche" and its variants ever since Subway Douchery came into existence. Keep on douchin'!

² Oddly enough, my Polish was praised by a native Polish speaker recently.

³ It was then that I thought one of the "m"s should stand for "magic."