Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I have never been a big concert go-er. Generally speaking, I have to really LOVE a band in order to withstand the mass of humanity that you have to deal with at a concert. Case in point, the AC/DC show that I took my son to last November – we schlepped into the city on a work night (?!) to see the show at Madison Square Garden and it was great. Well worth the inconvenience and trouble and the (almost) fist fight that I started with the dude in front of me who was blowing pot smoke in my 12 year old son’s face (a post unto itself). Mess with my kids and I will cut a bitch or de-ball a middle aged a-hole smoking skunk weed.
Part of my issue with concerts is my own lousy attitude. I have never been able to get into mob mentality or group-think, so I don’t do the wave, I don’t sway my Bic lighter to and fro or (in the event of a Grateful Dead show) I don’t twirl. I know that this makes me sound all curmudgeonly and cranky, but I have never been a joiner. I’m not a woooooo girl and I refuse to “put my hands together” for anyone unless it’s my idea. I guess the rebel in me won't take orders from anyone, not even from a rock star.
So when my husband gave me the news that he scored floor seats for the Miley Cyrus concert in this coming November, I knew that it would be my fat fanny on the folders at the Nassau Coliseum and not his as he had already sat through one of these with my daughter before. And as he sat through a double bill of Miley and the Jonas Brothers I figured that I owed him the future chaperone of at least two shows. Damn!
As you may or may not know, I am no spring chicken. I have walked this green earth for 45 years and in all those years, I have selectively gone to maybe ten concerts. NEVER in those ten concerts have I ever gotten even REMOTELY close to the floor. When I was sixteen, I would have sold my grandmother for floor seats to see The Cars. I know that you are shaking your head in total confusion over that last sentence. Hell, I don’t understand it myself. So this is what I get floor seats for?
Yup, I have eighteenth row seats to see Miley Cyrus. They’re the best seats I never wanted. And the prospect of being at the epicenter of tween madness sounds extremely dangerous to me. I could lose my hearing amongst the shrill screams of preteen girls. I could suffocate from the stench of overly-applied body splash. Who knows, I might even get whacked in the eye by a rogue clump of hair covered in hair glitter and suffer a scratched cornea. I guess I’d better dress for the event. I’m thinking full body armor. Maybe under the anonymity of chain mail and stainless steel, I could manage a “woooooo”, but I doubt it.