The Star Tribune's hipster-in-residence Chris Riemenschneider is upset with a DFL-sponsored plan to ban smoking in bars and restaurants. Is he a smoker himself? Well, he says no, but keep in mind he was speaking of tobacco only.
Chris' main point of contention with the legislation is that it will ruin the seedy underbelly vibe of rock clubs that he thinks is authentic, man.
Even more than smoking, though, I hate the idea of my favorite clubs being at the do-goody whim of legislators who probably haven't stepped into a real rock club since Jim Croce left this world. I also hate the idea of someone like, say, Lemmy Kilmeister pulling up the tour bus to First Avenue for the next Motörhead show and being told that he's going to have to smoke outside.
Most of all, I hate whiners. You'd have to be a major whiner to go to into a rock club and not expect to encounter smoke. Like ringing ear drums, tobacco-filled air is just part of what you get. It's not good for you, and that's exactly the point.
What is exactly the point? Sustaining physical injury and smelling like an ashtray is the POINT of going to rock clubs? Do I understand this correctly? So the more things I encounter during the show that "aren't good for me," the more authentic and yes, entertaining the event will be?
If say, one of the many dreary, black-clad freaks that inhabit First Avenue were to jab a shiv into my spine while I watched Semisonic, would that be exactly the point Chris? I mean, THAT'S not good for me.
Or if one from the army of angry lesbians who skulk in these clubs were to crack a Leinie's bottle over my noggin because she thought I was insufficiently supporting local music, would that be exactly the point? What's more rock and roll than that?
Chris is a strange individual. He inhabits a bizarre little Orwellian subculture world where up is down and bad is good.
And THAT is exactly the point.
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