The Tomato, The Assassin, The Babe, and The Grinch - a very purple tale Apr 17 '04 (Updated Jul 17 '04)    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet Popular Products in Books Mildred D. Taylor - Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry: A Literature Unit From $8 Olivier Dunrea - Ollie From $7 The Bottom Line It’s not every day that one receives a phone call like this one… “Can you come to Indianapolis April 12th?” a familiar voice asked. Knowing already what she had planned for the evening of April 12, I could hardly speak – was this an invitation to the concert event of the year? It was. Kristina had a ticket for me, a golden ticket, a ticket to see Prince’s Musicology Tour. In fact, it was a ticket not only to see Prince, but also to meet one of my very favorite epinions writers for the very first time – the eternally mumbling, doppler devoted Paul Lorentz. Paul would drive down to Indianapolis from Sun Prairie, Wisonsin, I would fly in from Dallas, Texas (via a very short stop in Houston), and we would meet with the mistress of ceremonies, Indianapolis’ own kristinafh. After some negotiations with my wife, of course… That happy hour of discussion aside, the trip was on. To be completely honest, I really do have to thank my wife for allowing me this adventure – it was just what I needed after a long stressful winter of database development that had finally reached it’s end. I was tired, needing a break from work, and a diversion from my usual routine. Here was something to really look forward to, and the excitement built up in the weeks before the trip. As Paul noted at one point in the epinions Music Source forum, it felt like Christmas morning was just around the corner. But this particular Christmas was visited by the Grinch – a nasty wasty Grinch with nasty wasty demands for our lovely hostess. The Grinch stole Kristina’s Prince ticket. The Grinch demanded that she attend a company meeting the very day of the concert – IN NEW JERSEY! I told you this was a nasty wasty Grinch… boooo! The Grinch would not be moved, The Grinch’s heart would not grow three sizes that day – and our threesome became a party of two. Calls were made, plans were changed, as Paul and I scrambled to adjust to the new scenario. We were all devastated at this change in events, but Paul and I decided to continue with our meet and greet, and so I finally found myself at the Indianapolis airport, face to bearded face with the man himself. Recently trimmer, and annoyingly comfortable in the chilly Indianapolis weather (I’m a California weather wuss by birth), Paul turned out to be instantly likable and a great conversationalist (not that I expected anything less from a guy who can work “infralapsarianism” into the title of a McDonald’s review and make it relevant to the article). After making the first of several attempts to kill me with his dubious driving skills, we managed to safely make our way to a parking garage near the Conseco Fieldhouse in the amazingly compact downtown area of the city. We walked a few blocks over to the Hard Rock Café (hey, we’re music writers – we wanted some appropriate atmosphere. And nine dollar hamburgers.) We spent about ninety minutes under the donated memorabilia of legends like Izzy Stradlin, Nikki Sixx, Gene Simmons and a picture of John Lennon with a pig… the food was good, the beer was cold, and the conversation was great. We talked about epinions, music, epinions writers, music, our rage against the Grinch for keeping our hostess away from us, social, political and religious viewpoints, music, personal information, and still more music. I don’t have miss fh’s amazing memory for conversational details, but the discussion was lively, amusing and fired with anticipation of the event to come. We still had about an hour to kill, so we wandered over to the downtown mall – if Kristina had been there, she would have been very disappointed with her boys that evening. We breezed past shops full of body lotions, perfumes and various expensive undergarments without a glance – though we did stop so Paul could buy a soda… shocking behavior for two apprentices of kfh-babe. The concert was scheduled to start at 7:30 (well, that’s what the ticket said, but no one bothered to tell Mr. Prince) We stood in line with all the other thirty and forty plus year olds, some sporting eighties clothing and styles, others in full pimp mode (Lime Green leisure suit with gold medallion won the evening, while Silver crushed velour pants and shirt with gold eagle tipped cane ran a close second…). We continued to stand in line while Goliath barked orders and Clueless moved us to the front of a new line. We stood in line some more as others passed security. We stood in line. And stood in line. Others were moving into new lines and moving into the venue, and we stood in line. At some point, Clueless came back and saw that we had not moved. Finally, the rope was lifted and we were passed into the next line which actually kept moving. As we turned in our ticket, we were handed a free copy of Prince’s new album, Musicology, a big surprise and a generous bonus. Thanks, Prince! What a guy! Now, we knew that we were sitting close to the stage – our tickets had us on the floor in row 4. It turned out that this was a section number, and we were actually in row TWO, right next to the end of one section of the stage. Paul and I gaped at how close we were. We would be in sweat flinging range, nostril hair counting range…Kristina had hooked us up with tickets from heaven. I got out my email pager, and we sent her a little love note… (Andrew writes)First – it’s not fair. We need you here. Second – these seats are fantastic. (Paul writes)I love you I want to have your babies. Andrew wants to have your babies too. (Andrew writes) Yeah, I do… :) Neodrew and big boi paul We were extremely impressed with our vantage point, and absolutely thrilled with the concert itself. (BTW - I have now personally witnessed the patented plorentz arms-and-legs-flailing get-down-with-his-bad-self boogie - now THAT is an interesting sight! But at least it's better than my American Bandstand white boy shuffle...) We left the Fieldhouse in high spirits, and despite getting lost in downtown Indy’s maze of one way streets, and Paul’s further attempts at vehicular tomatocide, we managed to find our way to our room at the Embassy Suites at the north end of town. Tired as we were, we stayed up to watch the last half of A Mighty Wind, a favorite film for both Paul and I. After that, it was lights out… …until we were awakened in the morning by a phone call from The Babe – she wanted to tell us that she was boarding her flight from New Jersey, and that we would have some time to hook up at the airport before my flight was to leave in the afternoon. She was anxious for details, and in true guy fashion, I was completely useless for this task… I frustrate her to no end, I think. Paul and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast buffet, complete with flavorless fruits (oh how I miss the Golden State sometimes) yogurt and english muffin. I found my way to the front desk to inquire about printing my boarding passes for my flights, and I was directed to the manager’s desk to use her computer. The nice lady thoughtfully minimized the proprietary hotel program that displayed the entire guest list with complete personal information for each person, and opened Internet Explorer for my use. It’s nice to see such security measures in a business hotel, don’t you think? After hacking the entire guest database, and running up enough credit card purchases to make Donald Trump sweat his hairpiece off his head (it was a joke, Mr. Ashcroft, a JOKE), Paul and I headed to back into downtown Indy to find Kristina a present for her kindness, thoughtfulness, and general fabulousness. We made our way back into the mall – Paul had come up with a great idea. This time, we did not pass one of KFH’s favorite haunts. Boldly, we strode into the tasteful pink hues of Victoria’s Secret… We were immediately greeted by a salesperson who inquired about our plans for purchasing any of their fine undergarments. We knew what we wanted, but this was not obvious to outside observers. Two men enter a Victoria’s Secret and tell the salesperson “We want to buy a bra… for a friend.” In a sitcom version of this story, this is where the salespersons take a good look at the two guys, then glance knowingly at each other, thinking to themselves “right, a FRIEND… so THAT’s how it is…” Fortunately, it seems that this sort of scenario happens every day in downtown Indianapolis because the nice ladies never batted an eyelash at our proclamation, nor were they shocked that I knew the appropriate size of said undergarment. The entire transaction took all of three minutes – we were in, questioned, served and out, faster than Prince could sing “look for the purple banana until they put us in the truck”. Armed with our gift, we made our way to the airport (two final assassination attempts were made, both unsuccessful). Paul devised a faux Prince autograph, complete with Symbol, and we wrapped the gift (badly) within the attractive box the salespersons provided us whilst holding back gales of laughter. When we got to the Concourse, we found that The Grinch had contacted the airline in order to delay our Kristina’s flight by an hour. This is no fair, said Inigo Montoya… Paul and I made our way over to TGIFriday’s to have a drink and wait for the plane to arrive. Remind me why it’s not always a good idea to down a couple pints of Guiness before noon – oh yes, it tends to make one a bit light headed. I’m afraid that by the time Kristina arrived, I was feeling a little loopy… Anyway, hugs and introductions taken care of, the finally united threesome made it’s way back into TGIFriday’s for lunch and conversation. Again, I’m horrible about remembering what was discussed, though I could blame some of this memory loss on two pints of Ireland’s finest. I know that we filled in some details of the concert for her, she and Paul dished about their favorite shows, and we discussed the unfairness of it all. I had a great time in Indianapolis with Paul and Prince and Victoria, and I wish that Kristina could have been there to share it all with us. Of course, there’s no reason why we can’t try again – perhaps someday, I’ll hear a familiar voice on the line, offering me another golden ticket… We missed you terribly, Kristina, and we thank you from the bottom of our confused little masculine hearts for the opportunity of a lifetime. Love un2 the dawn. ------------------ The assassin has finally come forward to plead his case. Do it here. Do it now.

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