Welcome, my flock, to this, my second straight estrogen-soaked blog post. Last time, it was an author speaking tour. This time, it was a musical showcase featuring Pink and the Ting Tings. No offense to the authors, but they didn't leave me humming afterward.
The day began with a call from mother, who informed me that someone had donated free Pink tickets to the ministry offering plate. To this friend of the ministry, who has earned the title of honorary pug, I offer my sincere thanks -- and a wish to get well soon.
So the ayatollah clan set out for American Airlines Center in downtown Dallas. As we roamed the crowded halls looking for our seats, mother slipped into the ladies' room. Being a well-mannered and house-trained pug, I walked toward the nearby men's restroom. But to my surprise, the "Men" sign was covered up with a "Women" sign. It seemed that most of the arena's men's rooms had been overtaken by the rowdy crowd of females on hand for the show. I envisioned an AAC staffer standing inside the doorway passing out samples of the innovative P-Mate device to allow all these women to use the urinals with ease.
After finding our seats, and a disgusting tub of popcorn that would make the Dead Sea seem sodium-deficient, we settled in for an evening of music. With each odd-numbered bite, I felt my diastolic blood pressure spike 10 points. On the even-numbered bites, the systolic pressure rose an equal amount. Despite the presence of two pugs, most of the over-salted popcorn went uneaten. Yes, it was that bad.
But the concert was excellent. Despite recently suffering a separated shoulder, Pink was a dynamo on stage -- and even above the stage, where she performed some impressive trapeze moves. The large funhouse-themed set was perfect for Pink's high-energy, arena-ready songs, many of which I'd forgotten about until the choruses kicked in. In addition to her own bevy of radio-friendly hits from the last decade, Pink performed several covers: Led Zeppelin's "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You," Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody," Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" and the early '90s Divinyls classic "I Touch Myself." The latter song was done in a slow-burning, sultry manner and featured a handsy chaise longue in a display so racy that a red-faced mother quickly covered Wendell's puppy-dog eyes. If you missed it, fear not -- I hear it will be re-airing at 2 a.m. on Cinemax.
Though my father swam a dozen or so laps, scouring the bottom of the pool, our efforts to retrieve mother's wedding ring were unsuccessful. He found only a plastic ring, the rubber from the leg of a deck chair and two pieces of chewed gum (deposited in the pool in blatant violation of my fatwa at the 2003 Radical Clerics' Convention in Tehran). God willing, their marriage will survive the loss of this ring, with the help of counseling from the ministry. After our unsuccessful retrieval mission, I went to Oklahoma City for a couple of days. My aunt had tickets to see the Foo Fighters, peace be upon them, and she invited me to go along. This was the third time I had seen the band, dating back to the mid-'90s. This may seem peculiar to you, given the fact that I am a 7-year-old pug. But Allah works in mysterious ways. My first Foo Fighters show was in the historic Cain's Ballroom in Tulsa, a small venue that lacked air conditioning and was stiflingly hot, inspiring an alternate version of the song "Big Me" that has become popular on the bootleg circuit. It was interesting to see how the band had changed from those early days as I watched them Thursday at the cavernous Ford Center, soon to be the home of Oklahoma City's new NBA team. Singer Dave Grohl first hit it big as drummer for the legendary band Nirvana, whose Pixies-inspired punk sensibilities rejected the trappings of arena rock. Now, the Foo Fighters have embraced such bombast. Thursday's show, which was excellent albeit a bit loud for my aging ears, featured a large entourage of backing musicians and a much-touted triangle solo that was met with a thunderous standing ovation. I will pass no judgments on the merits of such a style shift except to say that any drum solo exceeding five minutes is probably excessive.
I took my little brother to his first music show last night. As we queued to enter the Palladium Ballroom, Wendell was upset when he was told he had to go through a separate line. "Why?" he barked. "Because you're under 21 in dog years," the usher barked back. As a bracelet was fitted above his paw, I explained to Wendell that he would not be missing out on anything. "The sin of alcohol is far greater than the benefit," I told him. "How do you know this?" he asked. "It is written in the Quran, my brother," I replied. "You have much to learn."Once inside, I approached the bartender. "We would like two waters -- in bowls," I barked. The bartender appeared perplexed. "Ahem, down here!" I barked. "Oh, sorry, Your Holiness," he stammered, leaning over the bar. "Two water bowls coming right up -- on the house."
