We had great tickets for Sheryl Crow at Chastain Saturday night, because the owner of the company Biggy works for has season tix and doesn’t always use them. We were, in fact, second row, left of center. I could see the freckles on Sheryl’s sternum.
Unfortunately, though, I was right behind the poster couple for eHarmony. Both in their fifties and with the air of relationship rejects (something I know a little about myself), that sort of stumbly, can’t-get-my-bearings affect, with a dash of I’ve-had-way-too-much-to-drink-already-and-the-opening-band-is-still-playing.
They were giddy over each other--he in his dadjeans, and she in her tent-top. He managed to be overly solicitous, making sure to ogle her almost as often as he ogled Sheryl. She seemed to appreciate that and would start looking a little worried if the attention lagged.
Every five minutes or so, they would kiss, and he’d mouth ‘I love you’ and then they’d go back to dancing—she waving both hands in the air, and he alternating between the Lawn Mower and Milking the Cow.
It was quite annoying.
15 comments:
oh GAWD I can't even say how many concerts have been ruined for me by fellow concert-goers!!!
Beer spilled down my back at Bob Seger and Bruce Springsteen by dancing fools. Rainstorm at Lakewood (back when) that brought all the lawnies in with a guy who thought it would be cute to sit IN my seat with me (cops were involved). Drunken screaming morons at Ringo Starr. Falling-over drunks at Smashing Pumpkins. Guy jockeying with a video camera for the best shot at The Who (never mind my foot; I've another).
Of course, I DID set that girl's hair on fire at the Rolling Stones in Tampa Stadium. She was really very nice about it. But what a stench (not her, her hair. On fire. Burning hair is horrific).
(you didn't really misspell a word, DID YOU??? I am stunned!)
It was the Grateful Dead in Tampa, not the Stones. For the record. Maybe that's why she was so nice. LSD.
Oh, and a lady was in labor, dilated 8 cm, on the way out of the stadium. Gotta love the Dead.
Do you mean affect/effect, Button?
As in: n. (āf'ěkt')
Feeling or emotion, especially as manifested by facial expression or body language: "The soldiers seen on television had been carefully chosen for blandness of affect" (Norman Mailer).
I did consider that to be a root of "affectation." I am so happy that you did not let me down!
I am serious about this. There are so few of you.
And the fact that you're more interested in your misspelling than in my setting hair on fire in Florida shows you're a gal after my own heart.
Because, really, what else is there?
And I was thinking, Really, Tania? Are you going to be such a freak that you have to get this cleared up before going on to the fire and such?
The answer was, Yes, yes I am.
do (or does) five comments count when four of them are from the same person?
i'm not anonymous...... i'm mamoo
The Anonymous Mamoo: Depends on the person. I personally feel one of my comments counts as two, sometimes three.
Opinions may, however, differ.
They count.
Mine do too.
Even this one.
This kinda shit and all the talking and picnicking is why I will never go to Chastain again. I hate that place. The only way you'd get me there is if Kate Bush did a surprise concert or Janis Joplin rose from the dead.
I'd like to share my drunk asshole concert stories, but don't think it's fair since I'm pretty sure I was the drunk asshole on a few too many occasions.
I heard dat, Kathy...for every asshole I've silently cussed out these days, I've probably more than made up for, back in my drinking days. Besides, now they're part of the show, for me. There's a blues fest I've attended for the last 5 years, and am amazed that the "regulars" act just as retarded now, as they did at the first.
Button- hang the spelling. You set someone's hair afire......HOW COOL IS THAT!!!???
I did! Thanks, Ads! I knew I could count on you! I was with Crazy Julia and some of her rascalions and okay maybe we had done a little substance here or there our own selves. She was opening a beer and asked me to hold her cigarette. No problem. I guess the beer opening took longer than expected, or maybe Julia forgot about her smoke, (I clearly did) or maybe time just collapsed, telescoped and careened off the moon as it sometimes will do, and the next thing I know, I smelled something horrific, and smoke was wafting up, and J's cigarette was all entangled in what was a few minutes before a glorious halo of long golden hair! The guy with Little SmokieTails helped stamp out the conflagration, and I was absolutely just mortified. I just wanted to LEAVE. Which, as I recall, I did, relocating to a section of Tampa Stadium as far away as possible.
Beat that for asshole behavior at concerts!!!
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