Journal: February 3, 2003
February 3, 2003
Written By Rob On January 21
A band called "The Way Out" were on the opening slot of a small 5 date British Columbia tour that ended several nights back in Kamloops. What can I say about The Way Out? Their members tell us that they never fight and if there is any tension built up between them, they peacefully resolve it with some cuddling. Kind of reminds me of the movie "Fight Club" when the character played by Edward Norton reluctantly buries his head in between the man-breasts of Bob (played by Meatloaf), the sobbing castrati, at the Testicular Cancer Group Therapy meeting. If Tegan or Sara ever caught Chris and I even touching with a hint of affection for each other, never mind cuddling, we'de be instantly fired. Now I personally believe that the more men could touch each other affectionately without being made fun of, the less George Bush's and Saddam Hussein's (notice how no one mentions Osama much anymore?) would be born to rule the world. Huh? Whatever, you catch my drift. My point is that it's okay for men to touch each other (even their private parts). Although now I've brought The Way Out's man-touching into the public eye ...ooops, still funny though. Sitting side-stage at "Heroes Pub", Kamloops: Tegan leans over to me, her eyes on Wes playing Keyboards with The Way Out, and shouts in the general direction of my head, "WES HAS A LITTLE ASS!" just as the band stop dead silent for a 2 beat mute in their song. Except, of course, it wasn't silent, all anyone could hear was Tegan's very observant exclamation. Unfazed, she carries on examining the rest of their asses.
"Rob?"
"Yes Tegan?"
"They ALL have little bums!" she proclaims grinning, clearly amused at her important revelation.
Just then Wes turns away from us, bends over and flashes Tegan his hairless, shiny (?), twin ass-globes- like angels descending from the Heavens. Almost as classic as two nights prior in Kelowna (The Way Out's hometown) where Wes and Phil (drummer) stripped down to their ginch in-between the curtains at side-stage. And because my drum kit was set up sideways I was initially the only one privy to their antics. They had rolled up their ginch in such a manner as to resemble thong underwear, then proceeded to each place a hand up on the wall of the theatre, with their other hands firm on their hips in a come-and-get-me- fashion, legs wide apart, bums jutting out, gyrating and rotating in mock stripper style. It took all I had to keep myself together and focused on the music. I had to close my eyes, their dancing was simply too much for my virginal sensibilities. Thank the good Lord Chris caught wind of their heathen antics and drew the curtains back, rightly exposing Wes an Phil's thong dance in mid-gyration to the lucky, or unlucky, depending on perspective, fans in the first few rows. Wes and Phil quickly scampered away like rats caught in a train's headlights at a Brooklyn subway stop.
Rob