At Large “I Fawking Kill You”
posted by on January 16 at 1:54 AM
We’re in Imperia (sister city: Newport, Rhode Island), a smallish town on the northern Mediterranean coast of Italy, for a day of laundry, full meals, and rest. We need it.
Best tattoo (Munich): “Long live the dead.”
Best vegetarian grafitti (Milan): A long bone, surrounded by elaborate, different-colored circles, with the caption: “Tofu Pax.”
Best hater graffiti (Utrecht): “How do you get a goth out of a tree? Cut the rope.”
Most intimidating conversation (in an apartment full of loud, aggro, drugged-up rockers, Milan):
Me: What’s your name?
Italian #1: El Conquistador.
Me: Why do they call you Conquistador?
Italian #1: Hm?
Me: Your name. Conquistador. Why.
Italian #1: Oh. Ah. Thee-ah Espanish conquistadores.
Me: Yes. But why you. Why is that your name?
Italian #2 (pops out of nowhere, screams): BECAUSE THAT’S EES FAWKING NAME, FAWKER! CONQUISTADOR! STOP ASKING STUPID FAWKING QUESTIONS! One strike. (Makes a chopping gesture.) Strike one.
Me (trying to sound not-intimidated): What happens after three strikes?
Italian #2: I fawking kill you.
I never got strike two.
Best song lyrics (copied from the back of a record by Out With a Bang, Milan):
“Do What My Cock Says”
Right and wrong make no fucking sense,
‘Cause I’m here. Fucked up. To do. What my cock says.
-set this fucking night on fire-yeah.
+set this stupid night on fire-
(and he says)
“get laid! get hurt! this is what you gonna do, and
get high! get drunk! fuck control man, ABUSE!”
-set this stupid night on fire-
-set this fucking night on fire-
DO IT AND BE SOMEONE,
DON’T AND BE NOONE!
burn.
Guess who the singer was? Italian #2. (They were nuts, totally wasted, played with tons of feedback, everyone in the crowd seemed to hate them, and when the sound guy at the Milanese punk squat tried to get on stage and turn off the amps, the guitarist just glared, shook his head, and the sound man shrunk back into the crowd. It was great. My brother said it was like seeing an Italian version of the Germs.)
Most disconcerting sight (driving from Munich to Milan): So little snow in the Alps. The fucking ALPS.
Next stop: Marseille.
That's an awesome story, Brendan.
Hey, are you guys coming to Edinburgh?
Ah the joys of europe! Make sure to stock up on crepes and galettes and marmalade when you get to france. You'll realize all the highly esteemed creperies in seattle dont hold a candle to it. But we already knew that.
Jingo. If you got your head our of your ass, you'd have the same damn conversation on Capitol Hill at any hour. Are we supposed to call you "cultured" now?
There's "highly esteemed creperies" in Seattle? Huh. News to me.
That conversation is absolutely hilarious.
Why no pics?
Sweet man: Yes, yes, but WHAT DID YOU EAT?
No snow in the Alps, but 3 inches on Capitol Hill... wierd.
I love these posts almost as much as the Freykus series.
#5
Of course there arent, thats the point. But lets face it, any creperie is seattle thinks they're highly esteemed. But their batter sucks.
Gabriel: No, sorry.
Bethany: Spaghetti with garlic and squid, a pizza with a name that sounded like capricious (where are the quote marks on French keyboards?), and more pastries and espresso than I could count.
Misty: No camera and rushed posts from internet cafes and promoters' houses.
Freddie: Strike one.
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