*(Because these aren’t getting old at all.)
You know what I think is interesting? Henry rarely declines when I say, “Let’s go to [insert city] to see [insert band].” As long as the driving distance is within reason, he will usually oblige, so you know what I think? I think that Henry ENJOYS it. You know what else he enjoys? Answering my questions. So let’s just get right into it.
Me: What style are you going for when you go to shows – Urban Lumberjack, Megan’s Law leisure or Amber Alert athletic?
Henry, looking up from Bakery Story on his phone and twisting that mustache into a snarl: What the hell are you talking about?
Me: Do you mean you’re denying pulling clothes from the Child Predator rack?
Me: What are your thoughts on Craig Owens?
Henry, mumbling and making put-out faces: Same as they were before.
Me, pressing the issue: Did you approve of his hair this time? You seemed concerned about the darkened hue when he was on Warped Tour.
Henry, annoyed that I’m making him think and string words together: It was a little better, I guess. I don’t know. It looked blond. What the fuck do you want from me?
Me, changing the subject so he wouldn’t completely shut down: Let’s talk about your caesar salad. What kind of man orders a salad?
Henry, smirking indignantly: One that wants a salad to eat.
[When asked if it was better/worse than tossed salad, he said better, which leads me to believe that he didn’t understand the question.]
Me: If you actually had a say in what we listened to in the car on the way to Cleveland, what would it have been?
Henry, cutting me off before I had a chance to add “And don’t say anything but Jonny Craig”: Anything but Jonny Craig.
Me: Why didn’t you propose to me during Craig’s set?
Henry, my questions now wearing his face into the visage of a wild Appalachian man: What?! Because I was in the bathroom at the Mongolian BBQ!
[Henry went next door to the Grog Shop and went through the motions of getting a table at the Mongolian BBQ joint just so he could shit on their toilets. He quite literally missed half of the show and I didn’t even notice. And also, nice try Henry. We all know it’s because you don’t even have a ring!]
Me, brushing off the bitterness: Yeah, speaking of, let’s talk about your gastrointestinal hiccups of the night.
Henry: What about it? And why do we have to talk about my gastro—[gives up because he can’t pronounce it]?
Me, trying to get this over with so I could stare longingly at my Jonny Craig Christmas tree topper: Because some people might daydream about your bowel movements. YOU DON’T KNOW.
Henry: WHAT? People don’t…what the fuck are you talking about? You’re so…[goes back to playing on his phone]
Me: When you were young—-
Me: —did you ever roadtrip for a show?
Henry, disinterestedly: No.
Me, pressing the issue: Not even for Judas Priest or Tone Loc?
Henry, all emphatically: NO. [And then repeated “Tone Loc” to himself and shook his head.]
Me, determined to dig deep beneath the non-descript t-shirts (worn over top of non-descript Henleys now that it’s winter!) for real answers: In your own words, describe the trip to Cleveland.
Henry, looking around confusedly. (Sorry, your mommy’s not here to hold up cue cards for you.): I don’t know. The trip was OK until we hit the snow that you didn’t tell me about. [Ed.note: maybe if he would use his phone for more than playing games and watching porn, he would have been privy to the weather forecast.] Then it became annoying. That was about it until the show and then the trip home which was not fun because I had to drive with a drunk girl next to me.
[Imagine how riveting it would be if Henry had his own blog.]
Me: That’s it?
Henry: Yeah. What else do you want?!
Me: Sentimental stuff.
Henry, repeating my request in a tired tone: My stomach was upset 90% of the time. Sentimental stuff went out the window.
[Or down the commode, as it were.]
Me, poking the bear one last time before we went to bed: Did you see any shows in the SERVICE? Like Bette Midler or Gloria Estefan.
Henry: What? No! You mean USO concerts? No. I did see Cheap Trick though when I was stationed in Texas.
Me, getting unnecessarily worked up: YOU DID? WHERE WAS IT?
Henry, looking at me suspiciously and clearly debating whether or not to answer: In a bar.
Me: [Dying of laughter, smothering myself with a pillow.]
Henry: [Ignoring me and trying to remember what album Cheap Trick had just released at the time of this show.]
Me: [Crying at this point.]
Henry, snapping out of his Cheap Trick glory: IT’S NOT THAT FUNNY. Really, it’s not that funny.
Me: Was that the show where you pushed over someone in a wheelchair?
Henry: What, no. That was Ted Nugent, and that’s not what happened.
Me: [Losing it all over again.]
This is what Henry looked like during most of our interview.
I’m going to try and really hone my investigative reporter skills by getting him to reveal what REALLY happened at that Ted Nugent show.