In Which We Do Not Rock Out


Diane von Austinburg decided on a whim to come out and visit me. Actually she came out to check on the tag sale a friend of ours claimed he was going to regale us with. I was very dubious any such sale might ever actually materialize, but I’m always delighted to host Diane. So I was sort of a collateral visit. SPOILER ALERT: no tag sale happened.

Coincidentally, I had snagged two tickets for the B-52’s farewell tour. The B-52s were a very important part of the wacky years I spent in New Orleans. I loved their music and the joie de vivre they expressed. Diane has long claimed she and I went to one of their concerts in Austin even though I don’t remember it, but then, there’s lots of stuff from those years that I don’t remember. So Diane was here, the band was here, I had spectacularly great tickets (9th row center,) it was meant to be.

And then, it didn’t happen. All along we both acknowledged how very unlikely it was that we would actually make it to the concert that night. My bad back, the fact that neither of us are wild about being around strangers, and just general inertia were all conspiring against us.

Even more was the sense that the time for whooping it up at a rock show had passed me by. My best friend Magda shared my passion for the B-52s and in fact, the very first time he and I hung out was at one of their shows. Magda died 7 years ago and I still miss the old thing. In fact, pretty much all of my friends from those heady years have passed on to the other side of the grass. And so the idea that a B-52’s show would be haunted by their ghosts was just a little more than I could face. So we stayed home and played Boggle and reveled in the comfort of being old farts.

guys who do not have to worry about being old farts. NOT YET.

I know he’s not nekkid (so unfortunate) but this is a birthday present for Mikey from Chaturbate

This guy does not seem to go with shocking pink. It’s just not his color.

This guy, who I keep referring to as “That guy” is actually named Jake Andrews. You’re welcome.

Welcome to the North Pole. Enjoy your visit.


Penis, penis on the wall

Mr. Rhino Horn is in the house.

That devilish eyebrow

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

12 responses »

  1. This was a highly disturbing post. Great tickets for what I’m sure was a terrific concert squandered without any regret, rationalized by old-fogeydom, a state of mind that begets inertia and eventual decline. Ah well, it’s your money and time to waste,
    so I shouldn’t judge. But, I do. LOL


    • Dude. I am 67 years old, the idea that I need to be fighting against the tides of time is what’s disturbing. That whole “do not go gently” thing is fine, but sometimes you just want to play Boggle.


  2. Mr. P., I hate to tell you this. I think you’re living in your own private Idaho, with static filling your attic from Channel Z.


  3. I wonder if the B52s will sing, seated in comfortable chairs like Joni Mitchell did at a recent performance at a folk festival and Marianne Faithfull before her, she had someone stood next to her flicking over the pages to the lyrics, they just don’t know when to call it a day. I’d rather stay at home and do a 1000-piece jigsaw of the Merry Wives of Windsor.


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