Content-type: text/html Ray Manning

Monday, October 10, 1999 7:32 AM

FEAR and Weekending


Another Friday away from TRW. After running and doing errands in the morning, I veg out for a half hour flipping through daytime television. Judge Joe Brown has an interesting case between two exotic models who traded clothes with each other and, it turns out, the clothes do not fit one of the models. Judge Joe Brown agrees, much to my concurrence, to let one of the exotic models try to squeeze into the silver sequined outfit and demonstrate to the court that she cannot zip up the top. Everyone agrees after the demonstration that the dress doesn't fit and she wins the case.

I recover from the nap nicely and get ready for the FEAR concert. FEAR is playing at the Foothill Club with Union 13 and Wash (whoever those two bands are). I dress all in black - not wanting to get beat up by the FEAR fans who would misconstrue any non-black color as heresy - and head for the club. The standard two police cars are outside the club - standard for a FEAR concert that is. I pay no attention to the first two bands because, well, who cares who plays in front of FEAR. FEAR bangs through 30 songs in 60 minutes (or so it seems) with it being hard for non-FEAR fans to tell where one song ended and the next begins.

Well, after they play "Let's Have a War", with partial lyrics of
"Let's have a war
Jack up the Dow Jones,
Let's have a war
Sell the rights to the networks.
Let's have a war
Blame it on the middle class,
Let's have a war
The enemy's within."
I leave. Though FEAR continues to play. I get strange looks as I leave, but so what?

"Not really."

"Not really."

He starts mumbling something to me (now remember that I have my ear plugs in) about the lack of friendliness of the clientele, why he's wasting his time here when it looks like everyone stays to themselves, and that he's never been very lucky here. As he's saying this to me, ChiChi sees me from the dance floor. ChiChi comes over, gives me a hug, won't let me go, climbs up on the barstool with me (Now this was quite a trick in itself!), and continues to whisper things in my ear. As this is happening, I sneak glances at the old guy next to me with an "I think that the clientele is fairly friendly, thank you very much" look. After 5 minutes of this, ChiChi grabs my hand and leads me outside the bar. I sneak one last parting glance at the old guy who's staring in disbelief.

The half Vietnamese cross dresser is here again. I do not know what she is wearing, but I do notice that she has 6" (no exageration) high heels on. Now she is fairly tall to begin with, but I can hardly believe that there is enough oxygen to sustain life up where she is with the high heels. She sees me being led out of the bar by ChiChi and stops me and gives me an invitation to a ...well, a...a thing. The invitation has the words "Thanksgiving Fashion Show", "Buom Luon" (with accents and hyphens and squiggly lines of course), "Exotic Fashion for the Menlennium", and sponsored by (among others) "Bich thu van Music" and "Giahoi Restaurant". I ask the cross dresser if she will be at the event and after receiving an affirmative response, I mutter something to the effect of "Well then I'll be there. Oh, the Saturday near Thanksgiving is tough. I'll try".

ChiChi and I walk down the block to a store that's open 24 hours for "supplies". (As a side note, just like I hate being asked to chip in for a motel, I hate being asked to chip in for "supplies".) But we get the "supplies" and stop back in to the bar. ChiChi stops and talks with friends in Vietnamese. Intermingled with about 30 seconds of rapid-fire Vietnamese, I occasionally hear the word alien (in english) spoken. Everytime I hear the word alien I start laughing. Because I know ChiChi is sharing our secret with his friends. And because it is late.

ChiChi leaves at 10am. I look out the front door to see if the neighbors are watching, but I see none. I wonder who will win the lottery this week.