We Want the Funk

Ok, I had a really swell post about my visit to the urologist all set to go today, but now you're just going to have to wait for that. Is the antici.....pation too much to bear? Sorry - I'll try to keep you entertained in the meantime.

I've mentioned before that my sister and I schlep pizzas at our friends' pizza shop. Well, yesterday there was a food service show sponsored by one of our vendors. The owners couldn't make it, as they had other family obligations, so they asked my sister and I to go in their stead. I had no idea what I was getting into, but am always anxious to do just about anything that takes me away from my regular routine.

We arrived at the show about half an hour before it wrapped up. Let me tell you why this is a really smart thing to do: No-one wants to pack their stuff up and they give EVERYTHING away! So we not only had a very delicious nosh as we worked our way through the samples at the vendors booths, but EVERYONE was giving us stuff. Not just a sample, but as much as we could carry. Serious SWAG, which Michael Scott so aptly defined as: Stuff We All Get.

Our bounty: T-shirts, bread, pasta, hot sauce, dressing, ketchup, canvas bags, stress pigs... the usual stuff.

Next we headed to a cookout and private concert. With Mr. Dr. Funkenstein himself, George Clinton and the P Funk All Stars. Did I mention that all of this included an open bar, too? 'Cause it did. There was a camera crew there all night - apparently they're working on a documentary - so if you come across a documentary about George Clinton in the future, give it a moment or two, cause you might just catch a glimpse of my sister and I. And wouldn't that just be a rare treat?

The P Funk All Stars took the stage a handful at a time, each costumed more elaborately and bizarrely than the last. My sister said at one point, "Looks like there's a Yankee Trader somewhere with a severely depleted inventory." Now I mentioned that this was in conjunction with a food show, right? So we have this stage full of serious funk - one may have even been tempted to not inaccurately refer to it as 'funkadelic' - and a mosh pit full of old white people dancing. It was so surreal. And awesome.

Let's see, we had a king and a clown and a pimp and a dude in a diaper and a dude dressed like a bride. There was a chickadee with angel wings and a top hat. How many free beers have I consumed at this point, you ask? No, I swear. All is true. My sister did not know what George looked like. They played 4 or 5 songs before he came out. My sister refused to believe it. "Diaper Dude is George, Tammy."

"Diaper Dude is not George. George is old."

"Diaper Dude is old."

"Diaper Dude is older than Pimp Dude, but he's younger than George."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes"

So she asked a stranger in the crowd and he confirmed that Diaper Dude was indeed not George and then she believed it. Do you see how my life is? Nobody listens to me. I can't fault her. It's been a lifelong model of behavior and she learned it from my parents.

Anyhoo.

Eventually George took the stage in all his multicolored cockatoo coiffed Santa Claus/Jerry Garcia glory. And there was a whole lotta rhythm going down.


And then there was that moment. Simultaneously my sister and I sniffed the air - eyes widened - is that? Sure was. That enchanting aroma of sweet mary jane wafting through the concert hall. We were a little taken aback, not because we find pot smoking so very shocking and scandalous, but more because Ohio has a statewide smoking ban and we've grown accustomed to not smelling ANY sort of smoke indoors, much less this pungent olfactory blast from the past. We started playing 'Spot the Pot'. We couldn't find the source. I gave up and went to the restroom. Apparently even when the beer is free, you still just rent it. When I came back, she said someone in the crowd had offered George a joint and he had toked it up right up there on the stage. I didn't believe her till I confirmed it with a stranger. Just kidding, I took her at her word. Because at that very moment I caught a glimpse of Angel Top Hat Chickadee enjoying a little bit of Mother Nature's herbal bounty, also on the stage.



"He's Probably as old as Dad."

"Yeah, but I bet Dad doesn't sing about his balls."

"Or toke doobs in public" (and to those of you who actually know my dad, I sincerely apologize for invoking that image)

So that was my completely unplanned and absolutely free excellent adventure. Man, I love it when a Tuesday night turns out like that.

Time to turn this mutha out.