A Not-so-great Evening with Jane’s Addiction

His contract requires nipple

What Dave is thinking: If Daniel Craig and I were transported by the alien demon race of Dethron 8, and they made us do battle in an intergalactic arena for our lives and their fiendish entertainment? Daniel would best me in skills like Rugged Goodlooks and British-Accentness. I would best him in Tattoo and Shirt-Removal Skills. And Eyeshadow Design Skills. and Guitar Pose Skills.

Welcome back, ladies and gentle

Shouldn't we include photos of naked women in our post? You know, for the readership? -- Laszlo. Lala: No, our readers love that we respect their intelligence.

pups, to the Laszlo Von Glitz and Lala Super Hour.

On the docket: Jane’s Addiction

Our location: The Welmont Theater in Montclair, New Jersey, home to wan-looking pugilists (that was just a class of third grade girls, Laszlo corrects) and Stephen Colbert.

Dinner: Satish Palace, across from the Welmont. It’s yummy and resultant gaseous expulsions will keep enthusiastic concert-moshers and errant Zombies at bay.

There Lala, whose cornea was still healing after a space-time tear the size of Mumbai, revealed that she hadn’t spent her day inside laboring away on the novel as she had let Laz believe.

Laszlo: You went shopping? I thought your eye hurt.

Lala: It does. I was coming back from my appointment.

Laz: You saw your doctor today?

Lala: Yeah, my facial lady doc– well not doctor exactly — and it’s was sunny and sun hurt my eye and then there was this shop — and it was  like a haven. A haven, I say.

Laszlo, slowly: You went shopping. Because the sun hurt your eye.

Lala: Yes. And then there happened to be a sale.

Laszlo: I see.

Lala, just as the waiter arrived with the food: Yeah. Also? I put it on your credit card.

Not a naked woman. By Laszlo Von Glitz. Lala in the light booth, out of focus. "They're Prada," she said. "They're filthy," Laszlo said.

The subject of music came up as they ate. Laszlo had had a song in his head all day that he though might have been done by the Butthole Surfers (sorry Lala’s-mom: it’s a real band — and a rather good one).

Laz: I can’t get this song out of my head. But I can’t remember how it goes either.

The food was good. Lala was wearing her glasses. “You look like a rock n’ roll journalist,” he said. Lala squinted. Then he messed up his hair and told her had hung out all day that way.

In a dismal moment for political correctitude, Laz contemplates the Naan pre-show. "Oh, my stomach--- it feels like Ganesh is in there. I think I'm going to drop a Ganesh later."

Lala: That’s great…So… my book is going pretty well…

Laz: OMG! I got it! I remembered that song! (Singing) I-I-I wanna be a lifeguard!  I I I want to guard your life…

At the Show: Laszlo had this on his calendar as James Addiction for weeks, so we decided to stick with it. This produced looks of both superiority and vague confusion from fellow concert-goers who looked like they’d been drinking some bad water, Laszlo said. “Like five-legged cat bad water.”

Lala was very excited. She had been to Lollapaloosa as a highschooler. She loved Porno for Pyros. She loved Perry in all his bands. (This is foreshadowing, kids!) Patchouli was in the air. Then skunky herb. “I would like to see Pink Floyd with you, some day,” said Laszlo apropos nothing.

A Jane's Addiction fan enjoys a rousing dance of Nap.

A man bumped into Laszlo and mumbled something. “Sorry, I don’t speak Zombie,” Laz told him.

Scheduled lied to go on at 9:40, the crowd was surprisingly sober at 9:35. “There’s less plaid than there used to be,” Lala remarked.

“I-I-I want to be a lifeguard lifeguard lifeguard…” hummed Laz.

William had once had a promising career in genetic research, but his heart wasn't in it. After that he went into mustaches.

Dave Navarro’s hair looked well-conditioned and his eyebrows looked great. His many poses were truly majestic, and Lala thought his pants showed off his thighs to his advantage. “I’m scared of his chest,” she said.

“…wanna be a lifeguard…” sang Laz.

The music began: a few bouts of muddy, jammed and gummed up oldies. Jubilant, corneal-abrasion-piercing light shows blinded all. “Been Caught Stealing” came out muddy, probably because they are sick of playing it. There were videos of 60s brutal-porn with women with enormous bared breasts being beaten. The women were being beaten. Not the breasts. It was good family fun. Farrell was corny, like that guy who has been laughed at politely so often he thinks he is truly funny.

He got demonstrative about crowd barriers because “the women can’t reach up my leg and touch my c—.” Lala and Laszlo and 5,000 other people laughed politely. He’s so clever, that Perry, nudge nudge. The songs went on, loud as ever, but the crowd seemed less inclined to rock and roll and more to rock off to a noise-induced coma sleep.

“My eye hurts,” said Lala after a while. “And I feel kind of violated, and disappointed, like my youth has been lost and maybe there never was such a youth… I promise they are an amazing band, Laz. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed.”

“I…I – I, want to be a lifeguard, lifeguard, lifeguard! … I … wanna safe your life!” said Laz. “Oh my god, I remembered who did it! Not the Butthole Surfers! It was Blotto! Yeah!  Blotto!”

“I hope Pink Floyd comes around again,” Lala said.


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