It's been a whirlwind year here at the Newmaforma Service Corsa. I thought doing the Anniversary series would
help with content, not
become my only content. So it goes. I'll shed some light on how a project for a friend turned into drama in an effort to prove my manhood to a neighbor and his gang of retired old men and cost me the better part of the spring and summer in my next post.
For now, I thought it best to start the catching up with a recap from this esteemed journals' most popular guest contributor.
Remember this gem? Well, A is a splendid writer and even has a blog of her own. No one reads it though. Seriously, it's private, not public. Being that today is her birthday, I offered to let her lead off our summer recap/catch up. You know, as a gift. I'll be honest and say that this is a sit down for a spell kind of story, but I believe it's worth it. Honestly, where else are you going to read about slam dancing at a Toad the Wet Sprocket concert?
Live and In Concert
Last July I came out of concert-attending retirement and
joined the boys at the Wonder Ballroom to enjoy the musical stylings of the Aquabats. It was a special night as it was Gavin’s
first concert. He’d been waiting for
months to see these guys perform and he was giddy with anticipation. I’d been looking at the tickets on the fridge
with a fair amount of dread as the concert date approached. Concerts are not my favorite thing. Mostly because, in the past, almost every
time I went to a concert, I got into a fight.
Back in the early 90’s, my BFF’s Beth and Dawn and I got
tickets to see the band Toad the Wet Sprocket at the a medium size venue (we
saw them a couple times, but I am pretty sure this concert was at the La Luna). We got there plenty early because it was a
general admission affair and Beth and I were barely 5 feet tall (sans bangs in
my case). We wanted to get a primo spot
where we could see the stage and be part of the rock and roll cool music scene,
but also avoid experiences such as slam dancing, crowd surfing, or accidentally
mainlining heroin.
We staked our claim and waited patiently as the venue filled
up. I mentally prepared as much as
possible for the fact that there would be a crowd. I would probably get jostled. I wouldn’t like it, but I told myself it
would be worth it. Don’t panic I told myself. Be.
Cool. Finally, the lights dimmed and the band came
on stage. We clapped and made a
ruckus. Glen Phillips greeted the crowd
and the intro to their first song began.
At the same time, a rather tall guy and his equally tall girlfriend
muscled their way past me in, what I assumed, was their attempt to make a
bee-line for the more hard-core area up front.
A few others has slid past us at the last minute, but managed to stake a
claim in front of us that didn’t compromise the spot we’d already acquired. In
a nutshell: they used general crowd-situation etiquette. Unfortunately, Tall
Guy and Girl did not. Tall Guy pushed me out of the way and I
stumbled. He looked down on me with a
smirk. He knew exactly what he was
doing. He proceeded to stand directly in front of me so that he not only
completely blocked my view, but his shoulder blades were rubbing my pupils.
Well, that ticked me off.
But, I reasoned, maybe he just didn’t realize. Don’t panic. Breathe. Be. Cool. I tapped Tall Guy on the shoulder. He ignored me. He raised his glass to the ceiling and
toasted the band with his other Gumby arm slung casually around Tall Girl’s
neck. (You know how some people over-act
at concerts; as if they’re also being filmed for a music video, or a Zima
commercial? That’s what this dude was
doing.) I kept tapping. Finally he looked around and down and yelled
over the music to ask me what my problem was.
I pulled on his fancy dress shirt (yeah, he was preppy) so his ear was
directly in front of my mouth and as kindly as possible said, “You came in and
stood directly in front of me and are completely blocking my view. Could you please move just a little so that I
can see.”
His response was “F#ck.
Off.” So, I did.
I’m totally joking! What
I really did was I made a fist and punched him in the kidney.
The fact that I had just punched a guy took a second to
register. Then it occurred to me that
things might go badly for me. Beth and
Dawn were shocked and seemed like they were ready to run. I cannot blame them. It’s not like I made a habit of punching
people. Tall Girl was confused. Tall Guy
was agape. He turned all the way around
to face me. Crap. I guess it was time to
pull out the big guns. I stared him
down. I don’t unleash “The Stare Down”
cavalierly because it’s incredibly dangerous and once it’s launched you really
cannot go back. But, I’d punched the
guy, so figured I had little to lose. Tall
Guy backed down. He nodded at me, grabbed
his Lady’s hand and moved far, far away.
The girls enjoyed the rest of the concert in peace. I think I did too. But I don’t remember much after the punch.
I am a huge advocate for boundaries and standing up for
one’s self. But I don’t condone
violence. Back then I was glad I stood
up for myself, but I wasn’t and am not particularly proud that I punched a
guy.
I thought that concert experience was a one-off. Turns out, I was wrong. The next concert I attended after Toad was
when I went with a group of friends an outdoor Van Halen concert. The air was thick with pot. We got a pretty decent spot and two of the
guys I went with were big and burly, so they helped me maintain a good buffer
and great view of the stage. But, being
short of stature at a concert full of marijuana, ensures that I pretty much got
no fresh air. At one point, Sammy Hagar
climbed the scaffolding and was singing into the crowd. He was wearing football pants and, OMG, he
was singing directly to me. It was so rad!
After the concert was over we began making our way back to
the car. It was slow going as it was a
hot night and no one was walking real purposefully. The throngs were thick and two biker guys, who
were walking ahead of us, were arguing the merits of Sammy Hagar vs. David Lee
Roth. They started with yelling, but
then they decided to punch each other. It was so rad! But then I felt bad, so I decided it would be
a good idea for me to break up the brawl. Because
I was rad! Unfortunately, they
pretty much just thought that I wanted in on the fight too. It was chaos.
I was screaming “violence is NOT THE ANSWER! Would Sammy and David approve of this!?! Would
JESUS?! I wish we had some nachos!
Why are you trying to punch me!?”
I’ve never smoked pot in my life, but I’m pretty certain I
got a second-hand buzz that night and that is responsible for my antics. Thankfully, my friends hauled me out of
harm’s way (and in case you’re wondering, my very responsible buddy Chris drove
home).
I grew up a lot after that.
I went to a few more concerts here and there and managed to enjoy myself
and not get into any scuffles. There was
a close call at an Etta James and BB King concert on James and I’s 10th
anniversary when the guy sitting next to me got stupid drunk and was singing
along. I find it tremendously annoying
when people sing along at concerts, particularly when they don’t know the
words. At one point I turned to him and
asked “Sir, do you realize that BB is not singing right now, so it’s only
logical that you don’t know the words – in fact, you couldn’t possibly know the
words because there are none. BB is ONLY
PLAYING THE GUITAR!?”
The guy turned to me and said “F#ck.Off.” But I didn’t punch him. I did nothing. I didn’t really need to. He passed out and I was able to enjoy the
rest of the evening. I guess you could
call that progress.
I made another narrow escape when I went to see James
Taylor. There were a group of friends
sitting behind us that kept a running commentary about everything James Taylor
did, “Oh my, gawd! Did you not love how
he just sang You’ve Got A Friend. That is SOOOOO James Taylor! Didn’t you love how he sounded on Fire and Rain? That is so f#cking James Taylor! How could you not love his voice. It’s SO. JAMES. TAYLOR.”
They would not shut up.
Don’t you think that
everything is ‘so James Taylor’ maybe because, well….. he actually IS James
Taylor?
The incident that finally put me into retirement happened at
a Billy Joel concert at the Rose Garden in 2007. The guy sitting directly behind me was
singing along at the top of his lungs, screeching off-key into my ear and
everyone around us was giving him dirty looks.
He about made my brain explode during Innocent Man… “I YAM an INNOCENT
MAN….OH YES I YAM…..I..I…..YA-AIIII…..”
It was ruining the song for me and everyone around us. So when the song ended I turned around and
asked him very politely to stop singing so loud “Sir, could you please save
your singing along for at home in the shower, or perhaps in your car? I paid a lot of money to hear BILLY JOEL sing. Not you.”
My heart was pounding. I was
expecting the usual response. But to my
surprise, they guy was completely cool.
He told me he didn’t realize what he was doing and of course he’d stop.
He squeezed my shoulders. We had come to
an understanding! His wife or girlfriend/date
mouthed ‘thank you’ with wide eyes.
Wow! No fight! Others around me appeared pleased and
noticeably relaxed.
Then something weird happened. A couple songs later, some other dude decided
to sing along two rows behind and a few seats to the left of where I was
sitting. Multiples of us turned,
assuming it was the guy that, not three minutes prior, had said he’d stop. But it wasn’t. It was a new guy who, if it was even
possible, was singing louder and more annoyingly than the Original Singer. Original
Singer gave me a look that said ‘I’ve got this’, turned and said something to
Second Singer which I did not hear.
However, I did hear Second Singer say “F#ck. You.” Ah.
Now I’m back in familiar territory.
And then it was on. I
believe, like Donkey Kong. I say this
because, after the verbal message, Second Singer punctuated his message by
throwing a punch. A fight ensued. I kid you not. A freaking fight erupted at a Billy Joel concert. Who does that? (I suppose I probably have no room to talk.
But still….). It was a pansy-ass
affair. Mostly slaps, screeching and
such and it was over before it really started. But, it was a fight nonetheless.
Others pushed and shoved mostly to keep Second Singer from hurting anyone. Security came. Second Singer was escorted from the
concert. Then Original Singer gave me
the double from-behind shoulder tap followed by a “friendly-type” squeeze-rub
and spoke into my ear “It’s all good. I
made sure that ass-hole knew to stop singing along. What a dick, right!?”
To which I replied: “Um.
Thank you!?”
So, that night, after I bid adieu to Billy Joel from afar, I
knew, in my heart that it would be my last concert. It’s too stressful. I’m too overcome by my OCD and too weird about
people singing along, kicking my seat, blocking my view, making asinine
comments, or enjoying a concert “their way” and not my way to enjoy it myself. I don’t like the person I am when my space
gets jacked up. My inflexibility has no
business at concerts. I declared to the
world that this was my swan song. The end.
No more concerts for me. It was a relief
actually. On top of finding most every
other attendee at a concert a giant moron, I also battled my: panic in crowds,
fear about getting trampled by the Moshers, extreme dislike for getting touched
(even briefly and by happenstance) by strangers or smelling others’ armpit
stink, anxiety over a freak fire breaking out in a tiny venue and killing us
all….the list goes on and on. Yep. It’s for the best that I called it quits.
Fast forward to my kid is now almost six years old. He has watched the Aquabats on TV, knows their
songs, made his own special Aquabat costume with pipe cleaner goggles and a tin
foil hat. James even made him a tiny
replica of Eagle Bones Falcon Hawk’s laser guitar out of wood and fishing wire. The kid is beyond stoked for this
concert. It was a solemn moment when
James asked if I wanted him to buy me a ticket too. I wanted to say ‘no’. I did not want to go. And, honestly, for anyone else I would not
have done it. But for Gavin I will do
most anything.
The day finally came.
We entered the Wonder Ballroom which is a converted church in North
Portland. There were tons of people
there but it was not yet packed. We
found a spot and waited. The opening act
did their thing and finally it was time for the Aquabats. Gavin was secure on James’s shoulders. The
lights dimmed and then out they came!
Gavin was clapping and screaming and pointing and yell-telling me what
he could see as I could not. (I’m still
only a little over 5 feet tall.)
“MOM! There’s Jimmy
the Robot, your FAVORITE ONE! You know
he’s not really a robot, he’s JUST A GUY!
Ricky Fitness is on the drums; he’s so FAST! EAGLE BONES EAGLE BONES. Do you think he’ll
shoot the laser guitar? Ahhhh! Oh, tarter sauce, it’s the MC Bat Commander
and Crash! I can’t stand it! This is so awesome…..Ahhhhhhh……” I couldn’t hear any more over the music.
James and Gavin made a play for a spot closer to the stage
where most of the little kids were hanging.
I stayed back. I didn’t want to
be alone, but I also did not want to get any closer to the stage. A group of
young men began slam dancing/moshing (or whatever the heck the youths are
calling it these days) in front of me and I started to panic. I am
going to get trampled. They will crush
me. Tonight, I will likely die.
One dude did knock into me and I swayed but I didn’t
fall. I decided after that I’d mosh/slam
dance people right back (for the record this does NOT count as punching) so
every time they slammed into me I slammed into them. For me it was survival, but for them it was sup-mega-dope fun, yo! I was having fun vicariously through my kid,
but it was awful. I couldn’t breathe. Everyone smelled bad. I smelled bad. The
music was too loud. I couldn’t even
enjoy my favorite song (Burger Rain)
because I was trying to keep people from stepping on my toes or knocking me
over or touching me at all! I couldn’t see a thing. The strobe lights were messing with my
equilibrium because I have some balance and vertigo issues in my
slightly-less–than-perfect brain. It was
official, I thought. I am the absolute, no contest, lamest person
at this concert. In fact, I might
actually be the lamest person ON EARTH.
About that time, during a song transition, the lead singer,
aka the MC Bat Commander, looked right at me and said “Miss, are you actually
having any fun?” What
the what?! I knew he was talking to
me because of course I wasn’t having any fun! I love good music, but I admit, I absolutely
hate concerts! There! I SAID IT! I’d clearly not been able to cover it up. The group of sweaty Mosh-Men/Slam Dancers
turned and stared at me disbelievingly (they thought I was having fun…based on the amount of times I “slam-danced” my knee
into their rectums, I have to assume).
The spotlight was searching for me. The MC Bat Commander was pointing at
me. What. The. Heck. Seriously!? He was not letting it go. He was going to call me out in front of the
whole crowd with a spotlight for being a loser.
And he’d be right. But then my kid would know. I couldn’t let that happen. Gavin cannot find
out that I’m a loser until he’s at least 15.
I turned to run. The spotlight operator landed the beam on the woman
standing directly next to me. I froze
mid-dash. The MC Bat Commander knew the
light was upon the wrong woman. So did
Jimmy the Robot. But coward that I am, I
did nothing. I stayed frozen. Finally, after what felt like 87 minutes, the
MC Bat Commander relented and asked the “wrong” woman if she was having fun and
she yelled ‘YES’! The music resumed, slam-dancing resumed and the
spotlight left the crowd.
The band moved into their next song which required specific audience
participation. During a drum transition,
the MC Bat Commander asked Jimmy the Robot if “she” was having fun yet. Jimmy looked right at me (how could these
guys see me in the sea of people – maybe they really ARE super human) I believe
we made eye contact and he looked directly into my panicked, freaked out and
sweaty soul and despite the truth that he saw, he said “Yes. Yes she is.”
And so, Jimmy the Robot covered for me.
I thank you, Jimmy. You’re one
classy dude.
Shortly thereafter, the band brought two kids up on the
stage and split the crowd in half so that each kid could be put on an
inflatable dolphin pool toy and advanced across the room and back in a sort of crowd-surfing
via inflatables race. After the MC Bat
Commander split the crowd to form sides/teams, I found myself along the chasm/pathway
between halves. I also found that the
trajectory of the kid on my side of the room placed him having to be handed
over a very large gaping stairwell heading down to the basement. If not handed
over it properly, the kid was going to get dropped and fall. There was no way this was going to work. The
band could not see this pending disaster so I tried to get the MC Bat
Commander’s attention, to no avail. He
couldn’t hear me. But a kid’s safety was
at stake. I could see that others near
the stairwell were signaling the danger but they were not getting seen either.
They were about to start the race. Alas,
I decided that I’d have to draw unwanted attention to myself (this time on
purpose) and I jumped into the chasm and waved my arms and generally made
myself look like a complete spaz to get their attention. I did the slitting the throat motion to
signal “stop” and then pretended I was riding a pony to signal the inflatables race
(please don’t try to imagine it. It was
not at all attractive), and pointed wildly to the stairwell. I cycled through my pantomimed message a
couple times. It seemed to work because they halted the race and made
adjustments for safety. They didn’t pelt
me with the spotlight again for my efforts, but I still feel like I had a hand
in saving a kid’s life.
After the final encore, when the
band really was done, Eagle Bones Falcon Hawk threw his guitar pick out into
the crowd. It bounced off my chest and
onto the floor at my feet where James stealthily scooped it up and slid it into
my pocket while the Mosh-Men/Slam Dancers scrambled to find it. I felt a sense of euphoria that I, the girl
not having fun but really really trying
to, was the recipient of such a token. The band left the stage and the crowd turned
to make their way out. I waited until we
had exited into the blessedly fresh air and were not surrounded by the mob to
tell Gavin about the pick. I opened my
palm and showed it to him explaining how I’d gotten it and how it was a
treasured souvenir. He was astounded.
“Eagle Bones actually used this
during the concert then threw it to YOU!?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Mommy, wasn’t that awesome! Didn’t you have the best time EVER!? I can’t wait until our next concert!” Gavin said with pure joy in his eyes.
“Yes, son. I did have fun. And yes, the next concert I’m sure will be….epic.”
THE END
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