Monday, April 4, 2011

Nurse the Hate: Hate Indianapolis

I was in Indianapolis last weekend, and it makes me think of what a city would look like if it was built by Target. If Indianapolis was a loaf of bread, it would be Wonder. I’m not suggesting that Indianapolis doesn’t have ethnic diversity, but I had salsa I could swear was ketchup with a green pepper chopped up into it. I was in a bar watching the Butler game, and all the women looked like they were presenting awards at the Country Music Awards later that night. The people are all really nice in that dazed faraway Born Again Christian way. They smiled at me and were polite, but I felt that at anytime I could be in danger of being thrown into a Christian Right Re-education Camp if they knew the way my mind worked. It’s not really “my kind of town”.

I think my feelings about Indianapolis start with their music scene, or lack thereof. The only bands I know that have had good shows in Indianapolis include The Why Store and presumably John Cougar Mellencamp. (I prefer to leave the “Cougar” in as a reminder of John’s selling out to The Man when he was sucking on chili dogs outside the Tastee Freeze.) Some guy told me about a blues club that was “world famous” called The Slippery Noodle. It appeared the blues bands that played last weekend included some guy in a Rastafarian beret, and another that played all Jimmy Buffet covers. Not exactly RL Burnside and Howlin Wolf…

I have tried to book a regular gig in Indy for years with the hopes of building an audience there. The Cowslingers and now Whiskey Daredevils have driven through Indianapolis for literally two decades to go to cities more interested in what we do. Clearly a city of this size must contain 150 people interested in the kind of music we play, but I cannot confirm this fact. The search for this magical club goes on, and another year slips by… It’s not just me either. Check out the Bottle Rockets song “Indianapolis” if you don’t believe me.

The best time I ever had in Indianapolis was when I went to see the Grateful Dead in the early 90s with a bunch of friends. The highlights included bungee jumping in the Deer Creek parking lot pre-show under the influence of a life threatening amount of intoxicants. My friend Jeff screamed like a seven year old girl during his entire 20 story descent. His knees were shaking afterwards like a WWI doughboy with “battle fatigue”. (Long time readers will remember Jeff as the high school boy that barfed on himself and his friends on a ski trip.) After the show, we oozed into a chain restaurant/bar by our hotel called the Bombay Bicycle Club. Think if Applebee’s pretended to be exotic like a British outpost in India, except it was in Indianapolis and had chunky thighed gals slinging Bud Light draft in tight black slacks.

There was a karaoke contest that night, and I endured listening to three women out of four consecutive contestants sing Bette Midler’s “The Rose”. I then freaked out, signed up, and sang Elvis’s “Little Sister”. I think I secured the win when I leaped on top of the bar for the verse/chorus after the guitar solo. One of the women complained that I "wasn't allowed" to leave the stage area with my wireless mic. I argued with her there were no written rules, and it wasn't my fault she "didn't rock". Man, was she pissed. She would have been really pissed if she knew I was a ringer. I won a bike. Well, not a bike, but a certificate for a bike.

I never got to use the certificate since we pulled out of town the next morning. Maybe I’m still sore at that town because it owes me a bike. Maybe I need to really go "Full Indianapolis" and go to the Indy 500 and pretend to care about open wheel racing for an afternoon. I could wear a Peyton Manning jersey and go with a girl with big hair and special jeans. I could punch someone in the face if they made a negative remark about Bobby Knight. Then we could drink macrobrew at a strip plaza bar, and head home to our prefabricated housing unit. Granted, that sounds like a good time. It's just not "my good time".

Good Advice: I had Butler -3 and UConn +2 on Saturday. Sorry I forgot to post the picks. I'd like to get Butler +4 tonight, but that damn line is stuck at 3. I may sit this one out if it doesn't go to 4.


At April 17, 2011 at 9:48:00 PM EDT , Blogger Walter Zoomie said...

...Dublin/Columbus or Cleveland is better? Jackass buckeye douche-wad. Those are all just BIGGER cornfields with lights and shitty drivers and even shittier or non-existent NFL teams. Do not mock the Indy 500, or I will smite thee most assuredly. Get your sorry asses back to Indy. I promise nobody will steal your guitars. I will be armed. Bitch. ;)

At December 7, 2013 at 7:33:00 AM EST , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Indianapolis truly sucks. It is populated by robot people who all march in lockstep. Rule for living in Indy:

1. Get good grades.
2. Go to a good college.
3. Lord it over the stoners back home.
4. Always do what authority figures tell me to do.
5. Hate my life.

That's Indy. You're not missing anything.


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