Lilith, Dave, Steve and Jewel

I have posted "by request" in the past, but never have I posted for the sole sake of luring a particular comment. There is a first time for everything however...

I expect that our pal Dave will leave a comment at the end of this post, which had better fully explain why, early this afternoon, he enigmatically declared: "Fuck Jewel."

Now look, not everyone appreciates the breezy musical stylings of the Alaskan snaggle puss, but c'mon... "Fuck Jewel??" There had better be a good story behind this. That's all I'm saying.

OK, so, before we can get to Dave's tale, my story goes like this...

It was Summer. The Bar Exam was over and there was nothing left to do but wait for the eventual crushing blow. My friend, whose name I'll change to protect his identity, (let's call him "Steve") called me up with some excitement in his voice.

Steve: "Dude! I got tickets to go see a show at the Gorge this weekend! Wanna go??"

Me: "Uh, who's playing?"

Steve: "I dunno, bunch of chick bands. Cheryl Crow, Jewel, Sarah McLachlan... My brother said there's supposed to be a bunch of girls there!"

Me: "Um, Steve, do the tickets happen to say Lilith Fair, by chance?"

Steve: "YAH! So, are you coming?"

Me: "Oh yes, I wouldn't miss this for the world..."

Now, of course I knew what this was all about. I new that Lilith Fair was feminist code for "Lesipalooza." I knew very well that my and Steve's presence would not be welcomed with open arms or bared breasts. I also knew that Steve was picturing some giant topless sorority pool party, and he planned to be the full-service cabana boy.

I smiled quietly to myself.

The drive to the Gorge Amphitheater in George, Washington (Down the road from Martha, no lie) is long-ish. It's about 5 hours from Portland, along the wide Columbia River and over the flat high desert of eastern Washington. It is the single greatest venue to see a show in the world, though. Period. No question.

Because of the drive, most folks camp next to the venue. So, we drove up the dusty little road and we set up our dusty little pup tent. Immediately, Steve was struck by the vast sea of women. Women walking. Women napping. Women drinking beer.

He was in Xanadu, Paradise, Nirvana. Yet somehow, though he was rugged and attractive, he just couldn't quite catch the eye of that pretty young thing across the way... or her friend... or really, anyone around us. He even took his shirt off, but it was all for naught.

He started to get antsy, and suggested we get ready to hike over to the show. We actually had really very good seats; Orchestra section, about the 10th row. So, there was no reason to hurry. He thought maybe we could hit the beer garden early. I suspected he was looking for an alcohol assist.

I soon discovered that we were not necessarily the only guys there. It wasn't exactly like my previous tour of Chino Women's prison, but we were still a distinct minority. I'd put the ratio at 10 to 1.

A small hairy-arm pitted large-bosomed neighbor walked over and asked to borrow a mallet for the tent stakes. We chatted in a friendly manner, and finally she asked the question that had been plaguing her: "So, you two together?" She nodded her head over toward Steve, whose attention was taken by a squad of bikinis passing by.

"Um, ya, we are." I said smiling. I could see that this was going to be fun.

Having hiked around the swamp that divides the campground from the amphitheater, we passed through the gates and found the beer. Unfortunately, it didn't help Steve's cause. He couldn't make time to save his life. And really, there was virtually NO competition.

I received a few more inquiries about my "romantic" relationship to Steve. To which, I kept saying "yes."

Eventually, he heard me, and got pissed off. He was positive that my repeated declaration that he and I were a couple was the REAL reason that he couldn't score.

"Aw man, you made all the chicks think we're homos..."

"Yes Steve, I'm sure that's it. C'mon, let me buy you another 32 ounce Bud Lite."

Feeling dejected, he suggested that we go find our seats. The show was good, but Steve was drunk. He really only wanted to see Jewel. they were both from Alaska, and he felt some odd kinship with her. So, he yammered away for most of the show, annoying me and those around us until late in the evening, when Jewel finally came out alone with her acoustic guitar.

Then, he finally shut up. Unfortunately, the large burly athletically built, slightly mustachioed bull dyke behind us wasn't as interested in Jewel as Steve was. So, he turned around, and politely asked her to "Shut her goddamned fucking mouth."

This didn't go over as well as it could have. Fists were clenched, chairs were scattered, clothing was tugged, words were said. Slowly, but eventually, security arrived. Jewel had finished her set. So, I offered to help my friend find his way back to camp.

On the way, however, he insisted on finding a short cut through the swamp (or bog). I thought it safer to hike on the road around the swamp. So, we split up.

Seems I was right. I got back to camp and started cooking dinner. He was nowhere to be found. And hour passed. Then, another half hour. Finally, in shadow, I spied a lone figure limping his way toward me. As he came near, I saw first that his pants were covered in mud up to his thighs. His face was bleeding, but not badly. His shirt was torn, and he was missing a shoe.

I decided to say nothing. He had already had a day of disappointment, and I felt no need to pile on. We sat for a spell and drank our beer. We watched the unattainable womyn wander by. Some were friendly. Some weren't. We were asked again whether we were a couple.

Steve glared at me.
I simply smiled.

OK Dave, there you go, what's your beef with Jewel?