The night I had dinner with the Beastie Boys

I was living in Louisiana in the early 1990's. It was during the height of "Operation Rescue" (snort) going into communities to shut down women's clinics with the intention of limiting women's access to needed health care services.

If, for any reason, you don't agree with that last statement, please leave this blog. I am pro-choice and will not change. Any arguing will be deleted and promptly ignored.

On to our regularly scheduled post.

For their 1992 tour, The Beastie Boys offered to have all the proceeds from their New Orleans concert go towards defending women's health clinics for the upcoming summer blockades. Several groups were offered the chance to staff information tables in the lobby so we could promote women's reproductive rights.

While setting up the tables we could hear the band rehearse. I didn't think much of it. I wasn't a big fan of theirs. I only knew You Have To Fight for Your Right to Party which was a pretty irritating song in my book.

Then, two of the guys from the band showed up in the lobby. They went to each table (there were only a few) and chatted with each of us. Then we were invited to have dinner with them backstage.

I go to the back of this little theater and find myself in a small room with a catered dinner. This guy appears behind me and says "Hi Allison. I met you in the lobby."

To which I reply, "Um, I'm sorry, what is your name?"

He gives me this big grin, as if saying that no one has said that to him in a long time "Adam Horovitz. I'm in the band."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

We then get pasta and soda drinks. I don't remember much of what was said but recall they were all very kind, thoughtful people.

I returned to the theater lobby to staff the information table. Once the lobby cleared out we were alone at our tables. A roadie came out and invited me to stand backstage and watch the show.

There I was, standing backstage, watching the three guys in the band quietly meditate. Then, as if someone turned a key, they literally sprung onto the stage. I had never seen people jump so high as they did. They went from complete stillness to nothing but balls of energy in seconds.

Then I was offered a pass to the front of the stage. And I danced up a storm.

To this day I still don't own any Beastie Boys. Not even on the iPod.

I do have their signatures on a wall sign. Not sure where it is though...

Got your own melodious tale to share for Monday? Let me know and I'll link to you. Be sure to read Flower Child's tale of tunes, Fourier Analyst's translations of songs to welcome SinterKlaas (who? get over there and find out!!) and Jenn in Holland's masterful combining of gospel music with bath bubbles.