Thursday, January 26, 2006

Crazynakedchick Reprise

Since the tale came up in conversation last night, I'm going to reprise one of the greatest stories from the road ever told: Crazynakedchick at Madison Square Garden. If you've read it, either do so again or sit quietly and wait patiently for others to catch up. Enjoy the re-run, we'll be back later this afternoon when things quiet down.

Excerpt from a message from TJ in OH to Ace Cowboy, detailing the strange events of 12/31/97 at MSG:

"...The most peculiar thing we witnessed was after the show on the 31st. We're sitting straight back from the stage, not in the upper deck, but the one right below, all the way in the back. They were decent seats, pretty much the same ones we had in '95, as we could see everything going on: the band, the crowd, the light show. So people are filing out, it's like 1:00 a.m. or something, when Romack goes, "Look back and to the left." We're all stoned so the "back and to the left" thing gets me giggling thinking about assassinated presidents and spitting Mets. So I twist my neck around, don't really see anything, kind of sit up a little, and that's when I see it.

There's this girl, ass-naked, standing at the top of the stairs in MSG.

Initially, I was stunned. Mind you, I had seen excessive nudity in a venue before (see Tinley Park, 1997), and you would think that the abundance of sex in advertising and popular culture in general would have completely desensitized me to any occurrence such as this, but I was honestly speechless. Although no one person in our immediate party vocalized the intention, it was clearly understood that we would all wait, a mere 10 feet away from this Crazynakedchick, until the situation was completely resolved.

We all considered trying to talk her down. You know, get her seated, get a fleece on her or something, but there is something forbidden about approaching a strange woman that is wearing no clothes. Some of our early theories were that this was merely some prank, an attempt at noteriety from one of the legion of my-parents-live-on-the-Island-and-I-drive-a-Range-Rover-and-go-to-Penn-but-I-ate-three-hash-brownies-tonight Phish fans. Then, we thought maybe she was waiting for a friend of hers to take her picture, sort of a "Nude Badge of Courage," stick-it-to-the-man, I-got-naked-in-MSG-and-nobody-caught-me thing. Then she began to speak.

It was all very nonchalant. She, with animated hands and a stern expression turned from side to side from her perch at the top of the stairs, muttering something about how we all understood, and that what she was doing was beautiful, and that we should join her. Now, when she mentioned this last part, I began to get an idea. Snacks, who was with us, has sort of a history of public nudity, and I have a history of instigating said incidents. I knew what must come next.

"Snacks, go get naked with that chick," I said.
"I'm not gettin' naked," he replied, but you could tell it would be possible to sell him on the idea.
"Come on, get naked."
"No."
"Just for a minute."
"TJ, I'm not getting naked."
"Get up there and get naked. Just for a minute."
"There's no way."
"Well, at least strip to the waist."

And so it continued for a few minutes, eight people pushing Snacks to the verge of nudity. By this point, some pervert from a couple of rows down came up and was taking pictures of Crazynakedchick, who gladly posed. This ended when one of her friends came up, another woman, this one fully clothed. The two began fighting playfully, shadowboxing and stuff, when Crazynakedchick starting laughing maniacally and landing repeated open-handed blows about her best friend's face, neck, breast and head. And for some reason, all of this didn't seem too abnormal. It's not everyday you see a naked woman in a fight unless you work on the set of The Jerry Springer Show.

Like all things, the fight came to an abrupt end. I can't recall exactly what happened next, but I know that for some reason, at the exact same moment, all of us turned to look at Crazynakedchick. I remember there being an expression of complete serenity on her face. All of the agitation and anxiety and aggression that had been there before was replaced with a mask of total calm. She brought her palms together in front of her in a praying fashion, raised them above her head, bent slightly at the knees, and sprang outward in a perfect dive. She didn't flinch. She didn't look scared. She didn't try to brace herself for a landing on the concrete steps below. She just flew...about 10 steps down before pancaking with a sickening thud.

This change in plot turned the entire section on its collective ass. All of our mouths dropped. The uber-stoned around us sat in shock. Several girls shrieked in panic. A guy with dreadlocks ran for security. It was like somebody had yelled "D.E.A.!" Because she had dove so far and a group was amassing around her, we couldn't see what had become of her. I, of course, feared the worst and fought off images of fractured skulls and broken teeth.

But Crazynakedchick proved resiliant and climbed to her feet a few minutes after the spill. She had no visible lacerations, but her previously clear skin was now tainted with the smeared muck from the floor of The Garden: spilled beer and soda, the tapped ash from that last cashed bowl, some teenager's vomit.

At this point one of us, or maybe all of us, exclaimed "Let's get the fuck out of here." As we made our way out of our seats we witnessed Crazynakedchick consoling a crying and concerned friend. Crazynakedchick was probably her ride home. We were walking down the steps and into the main aisle when MSG's crack security staff arrived on the scene. One of the rent-a-cops kept trying to put a sweater around her, but she slapped away his hands.

As I turned one last time to see Crazynakedchick, her posture stiffened. She raised her chin, stared into space and began singing in this powerful voice. I don't know what the song was, but the entire image was terribly surreal. She had attained a certain dignity, standing naked to the world singing her song of songs.

In the earliest hours of the new year, the beauty that she had prophecised came to fruition. I turned away as we exited the main part of the arena and walked downt he steps toward the main entrance of The Garden. It was agreed upon by all of us: it was a damn good thing Snacks didn't get naked."

Man, I love that story. Good work, TJ.

Slack Link of the Day: I may or may not have posted this before, but Brucey McBruce forwarded this clip over to me this morning, and I forgot how funny it is.

Slack Video of the Day: I'll let a site called The Superficial take it away: "What do you get when you mix a giant douchebag, a recording studio, and the worst single ever released by a human being? The funniest fucking thing you'll see today. You haven't lived until you've seen Kevin Federline bobbing his head and tripping out to his own pathetic single. Well maybe you have, but everything up until now has just been practice for this."

Scotty B posted this video of K-Fed today with the subject "He Can't Be Serious." Apparently he can, and Snow 2.0 is providing the public with endless entertainment.

Slack Song of the Day: I'm continuing my lazy and resorting to the easy. A while ago, Tubbs Mulgrew discussed getting zooted at a Trey show and being blown away by his band's version of Sultans of Swing. In honor of that, here's a sweet Sultans from 4/11/04 at Vermont's Higher Ground. As an added bonus, give a listen to this Push On Til the Day and Drifting.

7 Comments:

At 11:13 AM, Anonymous Scotty B said...

Great post, that story is awesome!

 
At 11:45 AM, Blogger Don Fiedler said...

Federline is more properly described as a "douchebottle" as the bag has been replaced with a more durable plastic container.

 
At 12:45 PM, Blogger Ace Cowboy said...

Yeah, Scotty, TJ really knows how to get that story across...

Douchebottle -- I guarantee this word will be in Webster's or New American by 2008. Either way, lexicographers will know it and come to terms with it.

 
At 12:49 PM, Blogger Don Fiedler said...

Fiedlerline.

 
At 12:54 PM, Blogger hoobs said...

po po po po popozao popozao! are you flippin kidding me!? i would much rather listen to fiedlerline pretend to rap than this bottle-of-d's. i like how he keeps pretending like he is actually doing something at the mix-table.

 
At 7:47 PM, Blogger ismateo said...

hey, speaking of that douchebottle, check out James Lipton reading Federline on Conan.

also, great story.

 
At 8:59 AM, Blogger Ace Cowboy said...

That Lipton thing is friggin' awesome...thanks for the link. Everyone, get on that.

 

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