I’m at the Burbank airport getting ready to fly home for a couple of days to see U2 with younger Holliday. Not wanting to go to the concert without sufficiently dorky t-shirts, I went to nearly every t-shirt shop on Hollywood Boulevard yesterday (for those not familiar with LA, there are about six million t-shirt shops on Hollywood) and had a conversation with the <insert foreign nationality here> owner of each place that went something like this:
Me: “Do you have any U2 t-shirts?”
Them: “Sorry, don’t understand. Me?”
Me: “No, it’s the name of a band. U2. Do you have any t-shirts for them?”
Them: “You? Who?”
Me: “U2”
blank stare
Me: “I think I’ll just look around on my own…”
We’re not gonna be wearing band shirts to this one.
duuude, you’re supposed to wear like Black Flag shirts to the U2 show. (or something.) then you wear your U2 shirts to the Black Flag show. you gotta totally turn it around backwards. so really, it’s all right.
point taken. in lieu of cheesy shirts featuring bono i wore a museum of death t-shirt, while aaron showed up in a vintage 1980’s growing pains t-shirt featuring the man, myth, and legend, mr. michael seaver. hopefully our attire would have received the gallaway seal of approval.