2001-02-19 - Night
Freak #2 was more amusing than annoying, while Freak #3 was just plain creepy.
It�s Saturday night. I�m at a No Knife show at the Casbah and I find myself next to this dude who looks like Bill Gates--if Bill Gates were about 25, had shoulder-length blond dreadlocks and wore a Beautiful South T-shirt that was about two sizes too small. He stands right, and I mean right next to me, with his emaciated hipbone just about jammed into the side of my head (for no reason whatsoever, since there�s plenty of room on his other side), and starts doing this spazzy emo-kid dance I�ve seen here and there--bobbing up and down at the waist, shaking his head like a Parkinson�s patient and rubbing his hands as if he�s trying to warm them.
Did I mention that the band hasn�t even come onstage yet?
Did I also mention that the guy smells kind of mildewy?
I don�t want to say anything at first because in my experience these types of clubgoers are deeply sensitive, and if I accidentally drive him to suicide I�ll be up till dawn scrubbing emo-kid guts off my chair ... So, very gently, I tap him on the leg to get his attention. He jumps back, startled, looks down at me as if he�s just noticed me sitting there, then bolts off with this mortally wounded look on his face.
Jeez--I usually have to try a lot harder to make people cry. No, seriously, I do.
***
Flash-forward to Sunday, and Freak #3. I�m at the art museum in Balboa Park, which is hosting an exhibit of American Impressionists. There I am, studying one of the paintings, minding my own business, when I feel something brush the top of my head. I look up to see this plump 30ish woman with thick glasses feeling my hair--not in any kind of flirtatious sense, but like she�s fascinated by the texture, or something.
"Uh, pardon me?" I say.
She stares blankly at me for a second, blurts out, "Georgia O�Keeffe had polio, you know," and then walks away.
Three things come to mind immediately:
1) I�d have to look it up, but I�m pretty sure Georgia O�Keeffe didn�t have polio.
2) Georgia O�Keeffe isn�t in the exhibit.
3) What the fuck?
I spot her about a half-hour later, standing really close to one of the paintings and--I shit you not--nuzzling the frame. She disappears without a trace shortly thereafter. I sure hope someone called security before she started licking the picture itself to see what the paint tastes like.
***
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