Tuesday, January 13, 2004

Bland to the Bone
Every year, Harley riders from all over the world converge on one city to celebrate... Harley riding, I think. It's a week-long event, and this past year it was held in Milwaukee. My parents, using their keen vision for danger and inconvenience, planned a vacation for that week. "Stay here?The roads will be jammed. And that's just the beginning", they said, to which i replied, "Pa-shaw".

Now, there are conflicting reports about that week. Some say it was just a party that got a little out of hand. The way my family tells it -- which was confirmed by local news stations' year-end retrospectives last month (so you know it's true) -- the riders took to the streets of Miller Country like Revolution-era Frenchies at a Girls Gone Wild convention. Rampant, drunken, pasty biker nudity rolled out of the bars and restaurants into the streets. Sidewalk signs and parking meters -- destroyed! The police cowered. Catholics and Lutherans (there are many in Milwaukee) put their differences aside to balk and scowl in unison. And also cowered.

The whole week culminated in an outdoor concert at the lake front featuring surprise guests. Rumors spread:

"It's Metallica. It's gotta be Metallica!"
"If I could see Bob Segar before I die, God could boot my ass to Hell and I'd still shake his hand"

The opening act: Kid Rock. People cheered, shouted, drank. If Kid Rock started the show, WHERE COULD IT GO FROM HERE!?
Well, you can imagine these people's disappointment when, after a week of anticipation, the man who would not only be headlining the concert, but representing an entire motorcycle culture was...

Elton. John.

Now this is the strange part of the story. No one really did anything. I mean, some people booed and left, but there was nary a vehement reaction. They just kinda shrugged and rode home.

The moral of the story? Elton John is boring.

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