I woke up this morning thinking, "did last night really happen?," and then I saw the tangible evidence. A Vanilla Ice autograph. But that's not even the most hilarious part about the evening.
Let's back up.
Mr. Whirled and I went with A.K. and her husband to see Rob Van Winkle himself. The venue? An alley next to a dive bar. Said bar was charging $5 for the pleasure. The scene was PACKED, however, and Sir Vanilla did an energetic 55-minute show. Seemed in good spirits. The rage and self-loathing and attempts at death metal out the window. I couldn't help but laugh when he first took the stage, appearing in a cloud of dry ice, surrounded by inflatable Halloween decorations (it's June).
Notes:
1. The music wasn't even that BAD. Of course, he sang some "new" rap songs, and they were certainly more listenable than most 50 Cent records.
2. He shot his "Ice Ice Baby" wad early, doing it mid-way through the abbreviated show. But he did an absolutely straight, no bullsh*t, version. He is finally embracing his legacy.
3. He had a schtick of dumping water bottles out into the crowd every 3 minutes or so and then tossing the bottles. This happened about 30 times until, evidently, his supply ran out.
4. Multiple times, he yelled for girls to "show their t*ts." How 90s!
5. By the last 15 minutes, A.K., Mr. Whirled, and I had bum rushed to the front of the stage. Meanwhile, on stage, several girls had been pulled up to stripper dance, guys were rolling a joint clear as day on stage (off which Vanilla was partaking - check TMZ later for this, I'll bet), and Vanilla was sharing a bottle of Jaggarmeister with whomever in the crowd was dumb enough to put their lips to the bottle.
So ... the autograph. I'd worn this tee shirt
, which ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
tvnewseditor sent me for Christmas. By the end of the show, the four of us had decided I had to get it signed. A.K. and I jumped up on stage to try to get into backstage "V.I.P." No dice. We ended up standing to the side of the V.I.P. section, arguing with bouncers, and basically giving up until, lo and behold, Vanilla emerges, Sharpie in hand. I somehow muscle my way to him, and he graciously signed my shirt. For, like ... 30 seconds. It took him forever because he signed something illegible, drew a bunch of crap, and was also apparently stoned. Should I have been talking to him? Asking if he was sad to hear of Tammy Faye Baker's passing? I just stood there, dumbfounded. And now I'm a proud owner of a Vanilla Ice tee shirt WITH a Vanilla Ice autograph. Of course my camera is broken so I can't share a picture of the autograph. But trust me, it will be in a tee-shirt frame one day.
Oh - and the hilarious part of the evening I mentioned? Due to some strangeness in a world in which Trishelle is the first lady, Johnny "Fairplay" Dalton, of Survivor and Danny-Bonaduce-fighting notoriety, was among Vanilla's entourage. He also emerged from the "V.I.P." (ahem) tent, and no one was paying the skinny motherf*cker any mind, so I yelled "Johnny!" and stuck out my hand to shake it. He reciprocated, and then, no lie, did the "PSYCHE!," hand-smoothing-one's'-hair-behind-one's-e
My ears are ringing, but my spirit is not broken.
Let's back up.
Mr. Whirled and I went with A.K. and her husband to see Rob Van Winkle himself. The venue? An alley next to a dive bar. Said bar was charging $5 for the pleasure. The scene was PACKED, however, and Sir Vanilla did an energetic 55-minute show. Seemed in good spirits. The rage and self-loathing and attempts at death metal out the window. I couldn't help but laugh when he first took the stage, appearing in a cloud of dry ice, surrounded by inflatable Halloween decorations (it's June).
Notes:
1. The music wasn't even that BAD. Of course, he sang some "new" rap songs, and they were certainly more listenable than most 50 Cent records.
2. He shot his "Ice Ice Baby" wad early, doing it mid-way through the abbreviated show. But he did an absolutely straight, no bullsh*t, version. He is finally embracing his legacy.
3. He had a schtick of dumping water bottles out into the crowd every 3 minutes or so and then tossing the bottles. This happened about 30 times until, evidently, his supply ran out.
4. Multiple times, he yelled for girls to "show their t*ts." How 90s!
5. By the last 15 minutes, A.K., Mr. Whirled, and I had bum rushed to the front of the stage. Meanwhile, on stage, several girls had been pulled up to stripper dance, guys were rolling a joint clear as day on stage (off which Vanilla was partaking - check TMZ later for this, I'll bet), and Vanilla was sharing a bottle of Jaggarmeister with whomever in the crowd was dumb enough to put their lips to the bottle.
So ... the autograph. I'd worn this tee shirt
, which tvnewseditor sent me for Christmas. By the end of the show, the four of us had decided I had to get it signed. A.K. and I jumped up on stage to try to get into backstage "V.I.P." No dice. We ended up standing to the side of the V.I.P. section, arguing with bouncers, and basically giving up until, lo and behold, Vanilla emerges, Sharpie in hand. I somehow muscle my way to him, and he graciously signed my shirt. For, like ... 30 seconds. It took him forever because he signed something illegible, drew a bunch of crap, and was also apparently stoned. Should I have been talking to him? Asking if he was sad to hear of Tammy Faye Baker's passing? I just stood there, dumbfounded. And now I'm a proud owner of a Vanilla Ice tee shirt WITH a Vanilla Ice autograph. Of course my camera is broken so I can't share a picture of the autograph. But trust me, it will be in a tee-shirt frame one day. Oh - and the hilarious part of the evening I mentioned? Due to some strangeness in a world in which Trishelle is the first lady, Johnny "Fairplay" Dalton, of Survivor and Danny-Bonaduce-fighting notoriety, was among Vanilla's entourage. He also emerged from the "V.I.P." (ahem) tent, and no one was paying the skinny motherf*cker any mind, so I yelled "Johnny!" and stuck out my hand to shake it. He reciprocated, and then, no lie, did the "PSYCHE!," hand-smoothing-one's'-hair-behind-one's-e
My ears are ringing, but my spirit is not broken.
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