![Channeling Spirits with V.D. Cards, or, Why We Didn't Make It to the [Medicinal] Cannibus Cup in L.A.](/images/c/channelingspiritswithvdcards.gif)
Do you believe in the carrying momentum of BROPOWER? Tamber St. Ives, the 2nd band on stage at Burt's Tiki Lounge does. With a versatile and bi-polar range that encompasses both ska, and melancholy synthpop, A.S.I's fanbase seemed to be comprised of the 20 regular dudes you see hanging around the bathroom in the back on any given night. Those that are usually quarantined at the back of the bar, in the men's room—which I'm pretty sure doubles as either a soiled, iron-padded cell, a dark room for innately-homosexual-fraternity hazing, or straight up, the mouth at the pit of Hell. It's a place where you learn that cheeky pockmarks & spiked oversized ear gauges make a man look much older or tougher than he really is.
I'd had my share of misfortune the one time I made my way back there beforehand, and was deadset on holding my bladder for as long as possible rather than traverse the grounds once more. You have 2 options in that stankhole. One is the iron urinal that is much too large in width to cover your member from the gathering audience at the doorway... and the other is a stall with shady sliding lock, whose surrounding floor is usually covered in ankle deep piss, used toilet paper, and band stickers of acts from weeks/ages ago.
When Colleen had called to ask if we were coming to Burt's earlier that night, we'd taken this as a sign to keep the Gonzo pace going, and against better judgement, went to see a band called Lindy Vision, whom our friends were there supporting.
Unlike other all girl trios like the 5.6.7.8's, there was no beach punk anthems or full covered yellow sun dresses. These girls looked liked they had recently been discharged from a mental hospital post electroshock therapy and a head-to-toe-Wendy-O-Williams-plasmatic-makeover.
The music itself was invigorating and vibrant, a blend of aforementioned synthpop displaced with the attitude of the lead vocal's Siouxsie and the Banshees-type stage antics. Even though they took 45 minutes to do a soundcheck, when the music finally started it had a steadier appeal than their predecessors.
BROPOWER not included.
It was around the time of the their 3rd and final song that I decided to take my chances with the bathroom again. Luckily, the piss-covered stall was vacant so I didn't have to show my wiener to everyone that was congealing near the door, which was no one this time around. NO ONE.
'Fuck yes!'
I shut the iron door behind me and had minimal trouble securing the lock this time. Things were winding down and looking up simultaneously. Then I heard them approach. One took his place at the urinal. The other at the door conversing and waiting.
"Name's Shawn. 'Sup?"
Slap hands/fist bump.
"Andrew. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you. You here for the band?"
Flush/trade places.
"Man, I'm here every night."
"Hahaha. No doubt no doubt. What you do man?"
"I work in taxes."
"Hahaha. Yeah right. Me too, hahahaha."
"..."
"Oh shit, you're being serious. My bad my bad. Well shit, at least you're not like me. I'm just a fucking fry cook man, so I can't say anything."
"Yeah I used to do that, before taxes and whatnot."
"Hahahaha. Shiit. You don't look like a fry cook. No offense."
"Man, I can cook you a mean dinner for real. Best you ever had."
"Hahaha. I don't know about all that. I'm a bachelor chef, money. I can make chicken out of beans and rice, for real."
"..."
Flush.
Wash your hands.
