In Which Dan Friesen Witnesses a Global Event With 200 People Who, Believe It Or Not, Cared Less About It Than He; or, Somebody, Please Get Mr. Patrick a Scone

As predicted, getting out of Corinth has turned out to be exactly what the doctor ordered, though I was very resistant to take the medicine at first.

On Saturday, the family took a day trip to Athens, with the intention of the parents returning to Corinth that night, while my brother David and I stayed on in Athens for a few days before catching a ferry bound for Naxos.  The exact events of that day are a little hazy in my memory, but the important facts are as follows:

1) I got lost, separeated from my family, by events that I begrudgingly accept were my own fault, on the ascent towards the Acropolis. After walking around, searching and stewing, for a few hours, I found them in a street market towards the base of the hill.

2) The Acropolis was closed owing to a labor strike.  I can’t verify this, but I heard rumor that the strike was in response to the supervisor’s insistence that the workers not eat Mussaka on historical sites, so as not to offend the tourists.

3) During the aforementioned hours of stewing, I decided that I wanted nothing further to do with this Godforsaken country, and instead of going to Naxos, I would return to Corinth and serve out my time like a prisoner, putting marks on the wall for all the days left until my triumphant return to Columbia.  A few choice words from my brother (I believe “stop acting like a baby” was in there somewhere), however, set me straight and got me recommitted to the island voyage.

4) I retired to the hostel with a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label and began writing a column that in no way resembles the one I turned in the next day for the July issue of the Maneater.  I intended to turn in for the night, but the blaring sounds of American music and loud applause made me curious as to what was going on.

David and I took a very short walk and discovered the source of the noise: two huge screens projecting video of Cameron Diaz turning off a power bar to a large crowd of very disinterested Athenians.

David was the first to put the pieces together.

“It’s that Live Earth,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” I replied, getting quite excited for some American entertainment, regardless of how gay I would have thought it was were I at home.  Remember, it’s been a week since I’ve seen any TV or heard any music that didn’t heavily feature a lika.

“It’s 7-7-07,” he added.

Damn, I thought.  You may recall that I recently converted to the 5 Percent Nation, an offshoot of the Nation of Islam according to whose numerological system 7 is God’s number.  Ergo, 7-7-07 would be God’s day, the perfect day for a party.  Add to that that my address (and the location of the party) would be at the Gatehouse (2401 W. Broadway: 2+4+0+1=7) in apartment 2-oh-7, and you are packed to the gills in holiness.

I had grand plans.  I was going to wake up at 7 AM and smoke the first of the day’s 7 joints, whereupon I would go back to bed for about 7 hours.  I’d wake up and start planning a barbeque that would begin at 7 o’clock and include a guest list which would be divisible by 7.  I would cook cheeseburgers in the shape of a 7 (and made with 77% fat free ground beef) with 7 choices of cheese (cheddar, swiss, gouda, pepperjack, provolone, havarti, and muenster).  I would make Liz prepare a 7 layer dip.  Guests would be treated to a seemingly endless supply of Seagram’s 7 and 7-Ups.

But this whole Greece thing was scheduled, and I forgot all about my glorious designs.  That is until I saw that damn Live Earth, stealing my idea and using it as a cheap marketing ploy to ensure that people would forever remember the date that Al Gore and Leonardo DiCaprio saved us from ourselves.

David had no interest in hanging around and taking in this bizzare spectacle and I tried to hide my disappointment as we walked back to the hostel, where he promptly fell asleep.

I, for one, was not tired.  A restless fire burned within my bowels; a fire that wished to see this thing they call “global warming” brought to its knees.  At least that’s what I told myself.  The truth is that I really, really missed MTV Hits.  It’s a testament to how badly I missed the channel that I stayed and watched James Blunt, a singer I deem a pussy on the level of Edwin McCain or Ashley Parker Angel, and a man whose videos I never allow in my home, for all three of his songs.

Anyway, as soon as David was asleep, I snuck out, notebook in hand, and took a seat among the two hundred or so confused attendees.  Most of them couldn’t speak english, but were merely drawn to the bright lights, the loud noise, and the free Pepsi.  I can confidently say that Live Earth, at least in Athens, did as much to end global warming as Live Aid did to rid Africa of AIDS.

The night marked a milestone for me as the first time I’ve drank a beer in front of a cop.  I know that the subject has been thouroughly covered by past Maneater “study abroad” columnists, so I’ll spare you and not cover this subject that’s, quite frankly, been fucked raw.  Suffice it to say that the thrill of being allowed to drink in public produced it’s own momentum as I went back to the beer stand time and again, returning each time with a fresh bounty of three cold Mythos’s, a popular greek beer.

What follows is my unabridged notes taken at the Live Earth concert.  The only changes are made in parenthetical notes:

-Douchy frat guys locking arms singing along to James Blunt’s cover of Wild World makes me want to litter a lot to bring on the end of this world.  I’ll die, but so will they.

-This music is like I chose the playlist (note: they cut out the audio of the little sketches and celebrity endorcements, opting instead to play American pop music: “U + Ur Hand,” “Hips Don’t Lie,” “Smack That.”)

-The Pussycat Dolls played two songs about sex, but didn’t play “Wait a Minute,” whose title at least could be interpreted as a anti-global warming message.

-”Makes some noise if you give a shit” – Metallica

- AFI- “Eat vegetables, only eat vegetables.  We do it, you should too.  We’ve been doing it for years.  Stop destroying the world, you awful meat eaters.”  The Greeks love AFI.

- Ludacris sang “Pimping All Over the World.”  I’m expecially happy, as that is my intended theme song for my forthcoming photo essay, “Smoking All Over the World.”

- I’m not sure why, but Xuxa makes me want to be a better man.

- What the hell happened to Joss Stone?  What a mess.

- Man, do I miss Fall Out Boy.

- Jason Biggs says that recycling one can saves enough energy to power a TV for three hours.  By that estimate, since I’ve recyled all 15 of my cans tonight, I saved enough energy to have powered this whole Athens event.

- Robert Patrick HATES muffins (note: I have no idea what this is in reference to).

- I hate to sound naive, but whatever happened to burning garbage?

- “If left unchecked, climate change will crush God’s will.” -some priest.  Really?  God can save us from sin, but not from our Lunchables wrappers?

I staggered back to the hostel in disbelief after Cat Stevens himself performed Wild World.  I went to bed believing it to be a drunk hallucination, only to have it confirmed in the news the next day.  I was left with only one predominant emotion: sadness; sadness that I missed UB40’s performance somehow.

Tune in next time when I talk about Athens’ problem with prostitution.