Thunderstruck

Awestruck was more like.

I was lucky enough to see the AC/DC Black Ice Tour at Verizon Center last night. Holy crap; it was beyond amazing. Brian Johnson (who is scarily 4 years younger than my mom!) still has the pipes to pull off Highway to Hell. Angus scared the crap outta me when he proceeded to disrobe from his school uniform to his shorts, but that man is still one of the best guitarist alive. His Let There Be Rock solo was truly magic. The show never disappointed (aside from a strange metal group from Belfast).



Setlist:

Rock n Roll Train
Hell Ain't a Bad Place To be
Back In Black
Big Jack
Dirty deeds done dirt cheap
Thunderstruck
Black Ice
The Jack
Hells Bells
Shoot to thrill
War Machine
Anything Goes
You Shook Me all night long
TNT
Whole lotta Rosie
Let There Be Rock

Encore:
Highway To Hell
For Those About To Rock

In celebration of the AC/DC concert, enjoy this BlogFather oldie but goodie from 2006:

For Those About to Rock
How many times do we impulsively buy something at the store? The display looks great and we know that we totally don’t need it. But it ends up in the cart and we take it home only to lament hours later that the money could have been better spent on something else.

I had the reverse happen this weekend. Every Saturday we somehow end up at Target. It’s an easy store to do one-stop shopping, plus the Corey can run around and not get too far away. Target is one of those stores that does a lot of wallet-damage for us. We never leave without dropping $50 or more on things we really don’t need. This time however, the item I most desired, escaped me.

Corey inherits a ton of clothes from his cousin who is about nine months older than him. Most are in great condition, so rarely do we need more outfits. That doesn’t seem to stop us every time we pass through the kid’s clothing section. It never hurts to get a new shirt or pair of slacks.

Larry was over in the swimwear section salivating over this ’shark attack’ theme shirt & trunks combo. The kid has three swim trunks already, but I had to admit, this was a cute set. Into the cart it went. When all of sudden my eyes caught hold something on the other side the boys section.

You know those moments when your mind grabs hold of something before your brain can process it? Almost like a sixth sense, you instantly react and then marvel at your near-superhuman powers of response. I saw the shirt my son must own.

You could have mistaken me for Jackie Joyner Kersee (except for being a gay white male, about 5’9, and missing the dreads and long finger nails.) as I ran near double speed to grab the only XXS shirt they had left. In my mind, it was a foot race between me and… Actually no one else was near, but AC/DC totally seemed like a reason to knock over the display of ½ price pajamas.

What better way to set up my young child to become respected among his peers? To be the envy of his friends. And for me to be known as the ultimate bitchin’ dad who lets his son wear this outfit to … well … room 4 of Creative Playland. Trust me, there will be jealousy. Angus Young, totally kicking my Pretty Pony’s hindquarters.

I held up the shirt high like a beer bong at a fraternity party; the ultimate sign of manhood dangling from a plastic hanger. My other hand shot up in the air with the index finger and pinky extended as I shouted across menswear, “Rock ON, my little man.”

And he laughed; Larry just laughed. Years of heavy metal pride seeped from my pours in anguish. After all, I camped out for two days to get Telsa/Poison tickets in Cincinnati. What better way to pass on a legacy to my son then with 80’s metal?

I pleaded for the shirt. “Please, let me, I mean him get it. He really wants it. He looks good in black. He looks good in … ‘Back in Black’.” Instinctively, I reached for my air guitar and hit the most amazing C chord. You should have heard it. MAGIC!

And that was when I lost my case. Larry looked over and said, “No way am I having two little boys in my house singing Skid Road.”

(UGH. Skid Row you dumb ass.)

So we went home. My (ARGH), I mean his AC/DC shirt left hanging there for some undeserving child to pick up and wear while finger painting. No art of the Brian Johnson screeches being passed down from generation to generation. Instead, we have ‘shark attack’ swim trunks. Yippee!

We checked in with his moms the next morning and I forewarned them of the sad state they might encounter with our son. His depression would most likely have to be monitored for the next few weeks. I would begin putting money away for future therapy.

And Mom #1’s response to all of this. “We have three AC/DC CD’s at home and play Dirty Deeds all the time.” WE SALUTE YOU!

(Larry did give me the shirt for Father's Day that year!)