March 12th, 2001 So dawn and I got in the car and drove up to Tampa last week to see Weezer in concert. The traffic sucks up there. It sucks so much that I'm going to call it "traffuck". I used to live in Los Angeles were I would frequent Melrose, and Roscoe's, and Marcus' Den of Depravity, where the aforementioned traffuck is more like traffassfuck, so I know the worst. Tampa is pretty shitty right around rush hour. You people here in Florida need to learn how to drive. Concert Review: Weezer at the USF Sun Dome, Tampa FL By Timb the Enchanter So we were going to see Weezer, which is one of my all-time favorite bands at the Sun Dome. For those of you who don't know, the Sun Dome is a huge sports arena that seats about three hundred billion people. Ozma opened up for Weezer, and they looked great. Sounded great too. The play a cover of the theme from Tetris that just absolutely kicks ass. "The Get Up Kids" were the second supporting act, and I didn't really care for them. I mean, they tried and stuff, and they jumped around a lot, but what's the point? I didn't know any of their songs, so they might as well have been playing Barney covers or something. Who really cares? I don't. I ran into Gary in the men's room. He looked relieved to see me. In fact , he relieved himself on my fuzzy bunny boots. I told him to turn his dumb ass back around towards the urinal until he was done, and I apologized for running into him. He looked good. His crotch, I mean. The rash had almost completely gone away. Gary was looking pimp as usual in his fresh gear. He only had a short beard, so I assume he shaved right before he left for the show. He must have lost weight too. Looking very casual and male indeed. Very sexy for a misinformant. I noticed he was dragging around a big backpack, but why you would need textbooks at the Weezer show is beyond me. I mean they're Geek Rock and all, but I think studying calculus at the show is overboard. Gary was quick to explain to me that the bag wasn't "all full of books", in fact it was full of lights and gadgets and ticker tape and all sorts of Gary crap. No sex toys, though. I don't understand how this guy has any fun. He sure is excitable for a guy with no sex toys. Then it was backstage with our misinformer press passes to meet the band and get the exclusive interview with singer/songwriter/all-time hero, Weezer's own Rivers Cuomo. Actually, I wouldn't call it so much of an interview, since Rivers spent pretty much the whole time listening to Gary describe his latest web venture, citing from his little notebook. Apparently, Gary has a thing up and running that can generate Weezer-styled lyrics. It was pretty crappy, but I had to back up my homie. misinformer.com exclusive interview with Rivers Cuomo of Weezer: Gary: So if you click on the "moody" and "dejected" modifiers, it spits out: "I wanted you even then, tell me I'll never love again." Timb: Right on the money! Gary: ... and check this one out ... I click those to "angstful" and "introspective" and it gives me: "If you're going to walk away, you'd better destroy my shoes. Don't walk away from me." So what do you think, Rivers? Timb: It's amazing, isn't it? Gary: You can check it out on misinformer.com. It's gonna be all the rage. Timb: I can't wait! Then I tried to show my scarification to Rivers. I've been working on it for so long. The idea was to brand a big Weezer-styled "W" into my chest, but all I really had was a lighter, so it took forever and it hurt too much to do it on my chest. So I decided to try it on my left butt cheek. I was about halfway done by the time the show rolled around, so I had this "V" with little wings on the one side. For some reason Rivers didn't want to see it, but I insisted. I asked them if they could change their name to "Veezer", sort of like a German version or something, cause I was starting to develop a serious fear of fire. I started blacking out when I turned on my gas stove and stuff. He didn't say anything, but Gary said he seemed really impressed with it. Right about then, Gary and I were invited to what one security guard described as "a much bigger party" in an adjacent room, but somehow we ended up outside the rear exits near the dumpsters. The guard used my skinny-ass to pummel Gary silly like I was some kind of human baseball bat or something. Later on that evening, we ended up at the Steak n' Shake in Brandon. There, Gary and I talked about the important business of being misinformants, and how one day we'll get so many hits that we can just rest on our laurels and not really make any comedy, like L. Fitzgerald Sjöberg. Whenever he'd get off on a tangent about his Pepsi-draining experiments or some shit, I would ask him if he could make me an exact replica of my penis out of silicone, you know, something that could actually be used. He says sure. I asked him if he could make me a hydraulic masturbation machine, and he says sure. Gary's a cool guy. I don't think he heard a single word that I said to him that night. The food at the Steak n' Shake is so deliciously bad. I couldn't help but order the High-Rising Triple Cheeseburger of Death with two glasses of Surge. I know they have free refills, but you should see how fast I can pack that shit away. Surge is so good, it really tickles my pickle. What I didn't know was what was bound to happen on the way home. Did you guys know that Florida was on fire? Well, it's not any more, but it sure was for awhile. They had the whole interstate blocked off. There's smoke everywhere, and it smells like somebody has been burning tires on a bonfire everyday for about six months. I hear they had the road blocked off cause the flames were spitting across I-4 and burning cars up like microwave popcorn. The Guy outside the Shell said so, anyway. I had to take this freakish detour through some sprawling expanse of backwater, townless hell. I got about 30 minutes down the road, and I knew I was in the middle of nowhere, and that's when those burgers decided it was time to hatch. And they weren't waiting for no one. I pulled over at what must have been the only open convenience store for what seemed like 100 miles (any amount of distance seemed like 100 miles at this point) and ran up to the door; a cold sweat gleaming from my brow and a severely distressed look on my face. The door was locked. I pounded my fists on the glass in a fury that only a man with a Triple Cheeseburger (lubed up with three gallons of Surge) ramming its ugly black head against his sphincter would know. An old lady in a 7-11 uniform finished a few more stickers with the price gun and slowly inched over to the little box office-style service window. "Can I come in? I really gotta use the bathroom." "No." I must have looked like I just smoked a big brick of crack or something from my urgency, but I hoped my desperate gaze gave off some sort of sincerity. "We lock up after dark. This is a rough neighborhood." "What fucking neighborhood? People live here?? I haven't seen civilization for half an hour! Is there another place around here? Its an emergency!" "Uh, there's a place a couple miles down the road. I don't know if they're open, though. You could check it out." Like that was gonna happen. If I got back in my car and tried to go anywhere, I was gonna regret it. She went back to what she was doing. I, on the other hand, went over to the gas pumps and pick up some nice, two-ply blue paper towels. Then it was off to the back of the 7-11 to take care of some business. Hope they don't mind. More so, I hope they looked before they stepped out of that rear entrance. So, all in all, that Weezer show was really good. Gary agrees. And this night marks the second time that I've been so desperate that I've taken a shit behind a gas station. All content © 1999-2007 misinformer.com.   If it's too loud, turn it down.