“Pole Dancers Wanted”

Robin Meade just cracked up when she read this story this morning on CNN. “Shouldn’t they be studying or something?” She thought the students sounded very resourceful.

Link: Students punished after stripper pole party – Sep 23, 2004

Signs reading “Pole Dancers Wanted” were posted around campus and the men bought large quantities of beer. Friends were enlisted to check identifications and manage security. They charged $5 for men, and women were let in free.

The party ended shortly after the beer ran out.

I understand there was no public nudity. Lightweights! If I’m gonna get in trouble at school, I want it to be worthwhile…

No place else…

We took the brood out to dinner last night, and chose Chili’s. My son chose Chili’s, I don’t think I would have picked it.

Picture if you will:
We arrive at 6:30 (woulda been sooner but soccer practice went past 6). There are already enough people waiting to entirely fill the little couches inside, so we wisely nabbed an outside bench.

“How many in your party?”

“Four, and a high chair. How long is the wait?”

“Twenty minutes.”

At 7:20 we were finally taken to our table. Okay, so she misestimated. Okay, so people we watched drive up thirty minutes after us were already seated. Okay, so those people were at the exact same kind of booth we were in, only ours had an extremely hungry child in a high chair next to it kicking my shin.

Sigh. I’m not blaming the restaurant for any of these things (but I know they should have called our name much sooner, I think they screwed up the list, and yes I’ve worked as a host so I’m cutting them a lot of slack; they still screwed up). We should have fed the baby before we left. We should have had more snacks with us. But by the time we were seated it was a little late to play the game of “shoulda.” We shoulda eaten at home instead of going out.

Where am I going with all this ranting? Well, Chili’s ain’t what it used to be. When we were in high school we would go to Chili’s on Friday night – one order of french fries was too much for two famished teenagers to finish, and only cost a few dollars. The drinks were large and cold, the burgers hot and juicy. There was plenty of room between tables. They had one table that would seat fifteen and we filled that booth up, often.

Now everything costs a fortune, you don’t get as much food, and it isn’t nearly as tasty as it used to be. I guess things change.

I still remember the grand opening of Chili’s #2. Yes, the second Chili’s ever. Belt line road, in Addison, just outside of Dallas (#1 is on Greenville avenue. Neither store is in the same location anymore, I don’t think, when they expanded Greenville ave they had to move the original chili’s, which was a two-story affair). My sibs and I took shelter between the cigarette machine and jukebox, to try and not get stepped on by the grownups while we all waited in the bar for our table. Back then they served chili and burgers and fries and beer. No kids menu, no $9 margaritas in a souvineer cup (just like sea world but with alcohol in it), no funny “flying saucer” plates with the fake bottom to try and make it look like you are getting more food on your plate than you really are. No baby back ribs. The chili wasn’t engineered and frozen ahead of time at a corporate kitchen. It was good. I suppose it still is (still better then Bennigans), but it’s just not quite right.

Mood: melancholy.

More music trivia

One of my early concerts was to see Jethro Tull in concert. This was part of the “busting out” time of their existence (they’ve been a band for what, 35 years now?) and they had a guest keyboardist who simply blew me away. The musicians that make up Tull have changed and evolved over the years and they are not afraid of trying new things – part of what is fun about the band to me.

My favorite album is Aqualung, partly because it was one of their first albums I was exposed to and partly for the lyrics / music. I don’t claim to be a Tull expert (far from it) but I don’t really not like anything I’ve heard from them.

Aqualung, of course, was released in 1971, back before the Compact Disc was invented and actually consisted of two mini-albums: Aqualung (side 1) and My God (side 2). I often revisit the lyrics of My God since I just love them.

For example:

If Jesus saves — well, He’d better save Himself
from the gory glory seekers who use His name in death.

yeah, heady stuff like that. Now imagine hearing this for the first time while you’re drunk or stoned. Whoa, dude.

Two songs, I especially like, and it really helps to hear the music to go with them, but the lyrics get the point across. I put them under the fold so as to not waste as much real estate on screen:

My God
People — what have you done —
locked Him in His golden cage.
Made Him bend to your religion —
Him resurrected from the grave.
He is the god of nothing —
if that’s all that you can see.
You are the god of everything —
He’s inside you and me.
So lean upon Him gently
and don’t call on Him to save you
from your social graces
and the sins you used to waive.
The bloody Church of England —
in chains of history —
requests your earthly presence at
the vicarage for tea.
And the graven image you-know-who —
with His plastic crucifix —
he’s got him fixed —
confuses me as to who and where and why —
as to how he gets his kicks.
Confessing to the endless sin —
the endless whining sounds.
You’ll be praying till next Thursday to
all the gods that you can count.

Wind-up
When I was young and they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn’t mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
with their God tucked underneath my arm —
their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
and by way of firm reply,
He said — I’m not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before I’m through I’d like to say my prayers —

I don’t believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong —
He’s not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excomunicate me on my way to Sunday school
and have all the bishops harmonize these lines —

how do you dare tell me that I’m my Father’s son
when that was just an accident of Birth.
I’d rather look around me — compose a better song
‘cos that’s the honest measure of my worth.

In your pomp and all your glory you’re a poorer man than me,
as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.

I don’t believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong —
He’s not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

I’m just living in the past… Carry on.