So, I’m happily shooting the main stage at Sasquatch, minding my own business. I’m shooting the Murder City Devils. There are about 20 of us photographers in the pit. I should have known that things could get a little crazy after Spencer Moody, the Lead singer, starts on a log-ass heterosexual rant. He’s clearly quite agitated. I can’t remember the whole thing, but it ended with,
“A lot now, we play these shows in front of a lot of people, and I see a lot of gross, disgusting high school jocks in the audience. But what we do is for all the beautiful faggots, and the rest of you can all eat a big bowl of wet dicks.”
All righty, then.
Soon thereafter he proceeds to come down off the stage onto the large NIN equipment cases in the photo pit and grabs the back of my head and grinds it into his crotch for a good 10 seconds. I’m a pretty easy going gal, but be reasonable. Not only did he give me crotch burn on my forehead from rubbing into me so hard, but he also scratched my delicate fisheye lens. Minimally, wear soft pants if you’re going to be forcibly grinding people’s faces in your crotch, and preferably do it to a fan who chose to be there, rather than to a photographer who’s just doing her job. And why did you choose to pick on the female photographers (he pushed another woman after harassing me) when it’s the frat boys you’re pissed off at?
So although I was quite shaken, I tried not to get to pissed off. It makes for an interesting story to tell my grandchildren, I tell myself. I had a fisheye lens so I was able to capture the whole thing (The original images on flickr for your voyeuristic pleasure.) But most importantly, I just kept thinking of the dozens of awesome Seattle queers I’d met the other night at my BF Phil’s birthday bash. Those are the kind of gays I associate with Seattle. They’re big, lovable, loyal, hunky Eagle-lovin’ bears that read this blog and they’re my friends, Spencer Moody. They can always stop by Anne Bonny and let you know what they think of your behavior. They’ve got a good fifty pounds and six inches on you (both kinds, I’m sure.)