Feinicks

I attended Phoenix at the Orpheum theatre this past friday in the now, very secure city of Vancouver. I still have trouble understanding how this band is not the most popular band on earth. Their music makes 12 year old girls twist and me come simultaneously with absolutely no coincidence. I can see Listomania being the theme song to my great aunt Rosemary's weekly bridge tournament, Frank can take a seat. These guys from France unlocked the code far before Tom Hanks did: Harmonic Delay pedals+Perfect Percussion+Synth Cameos+Angelic Vocals=Better than U2

They opened their set with the aforementioned Listomania and highlighted with Rome, Girlfriend and Love Like a Sunset. They mixed in two-man renditions of Everything is Everything and Air's Playground Love before they launched into their encore of 1901....Where everyone, including myself, decided to jump onstage.

And now for the real story, the one where I came into contact with my first 60 year old homosexual.

Girl beside me looks good right, she looks about as good as the last tequila and 7 I managed to deep throat in the lobby of the magical Orpheum fifteen minutes previous. She also looks like she wants to maybe make out to heighten the experience of the show...at least, according to the the horny little man on my shoulder or.. I mean, my pants. I grab her hand a couple times, smile at her, do my usual creep moves waiting for the shut down to my expedition to see her nipples in candlelight. Things are going well, alcohol flows through my veins, French Pop Rock flows through my ears and I feel a hand grabbing the seam in my jeans. AAAH Yea! girl wants it, this is too easy. I smile one of those lil wayne smiles that usually happen just after you shoplift an Eat-More from 7-11. Free pleasure is comin my way in the form of skin contact through the palm. I reach down and grab that five fingered treasure map to fucking to realize that it is a little bigger than before, maybe even slightly more coarse. I wonder if she has been rubbing her breasts vigorously in between songs in an attempt to prepare her nipples for my succulent kiss, therefore drying her hands to the leatherness of a construction worker. I dig my thumb into her palm, rub it around, she digs back, squeezes and suddenly, due to the sheer force of the squeeze...I take a look at her. She is clearly smoking a joint with her right hand and has her left arm around another good looking twenty something. I turn forward to see the blue and yellow Nautica sweater from the Sears October catalogue strangely stretched towards my midsection. In my half-cut state it takes me 2.9 seconds to realize I'm enjoying being the current victim of Vancouver's finest white-haired hand-rapist. I smile one of those smiles when u wake up after sleeping on your front steps for six hours to find your keys in your jacket pocket when you thought you had left them on the kitchen counter before your roommate locked the door. One of those smiles where you gaze at the sky.

Have u ever tried dodging the incredibly accurate queer fist of a cunning 60 year old homo in a pop-rock mosh-pit? no? me neither.... until friday. He threw street fighter jabs at my cock for the final 4 songs of the set while I did my best Beyonce 'single ladies' impersonation to avoid them. Good thing I practice that dance daily in my shower.

I resorted to jumping on stage for the final song of the act and soon realized that all the security guards in Vancouver were protecting the fake trees with leaves designed by kindergartens on Granville and Georgia and not protecting Phoenix. K-Os smoked a blunt and took pictures of me as I jammed with the amazing backbone of the band. Great Show.

And for the record Beyonce could not do that dance if she had a penis....