Concerts

So, unless by some obscene miracle Andrew has Saturday off, I have an extra ticket to the concert this weekend that I can’t even give away. Who would’ve thunk that it would come to this? I’m tempted to go out to the bars on Friday night and kidnap one of these young university boys, force him to be my boyfriend for the day . . . TAKE THE TICKET!! IT’s FREE! Ah, those were the good old days, huh? When I could be counted on for some good kidnapping stories if nothing else.

Seems most heinous not to use the ticket at all, I don’t mind paying for it and giving it away, as long as someone gets to enjoy it . . . but to pay for it and then have nothing happen as a result, just seems wrong, a little cold. Of course then I’ll have the full ticket, not just a stub, as a souvenir of what is surely to be the most fantastic event I’ve ever attended. But still, ’tis a shame. I don’t know that I’m up to kidnapping a boy though . . . maybe a girl?

I’m not a big Stones fan. I think I’ve said that before, SEVERAL times. But everytime I hear Our Lady Peace or The Tragically Hip I freak out with the excitement of the thing. And yes, I do want to be able to say I saw The Stones . . . THE ROLLING STONES . . . I mean, it’s THE ROLLING STONES, not the tribute band, the real deal. The opportunity will never present itself again, it’s now or never. So yeah, even though I’m not their biggest fan, I’m excited about seeing Mick and the boys too. The emotion in that crowd is going to be so overwhelming, all ages, amazing. Finally, something huge and rather than watch the clips on tv, I’m going to be in it.

God there’s nothing like a concert. Years ago at Magnetic Hill, that weekend concert with so many acts . . . Heart, Pat Benetar, Foreigner, Lynard Skynard and scores of others . . . it was overwhelming. When Foreigner was on stage I had this completely unexpected reaction, pure emotion, tears I couldn’t hold back dripping out underneath dark sunglasses. Me and some stranger I met, from Doaktown, having the same overwhelming “Oh My God!” experience, hands waving in the air, singing at the top of our lungs, over our tears, instant bonding.

That’s what I love about concerts. That’s what people who’ve never been to a rock concert don’t understand — the bonding process. You get in the crowd, touching shoulders, perfumes mixing, different walks of life . . . but you all know every lyric to the songs, every beat, and that’s enough . . . that’s all there is at the rock show, nothing else matters. Society, class structure, all that stuff falls by the wayside, it’s about the music, (and sometimes the drugs) nothing else matters. You find yourself laughing and dancing with strangers who feel like best friends. It’s natural. It’s a high that sweeps you away, whether you’re actually inhaling or not.

A lot of people are afraid at the massiveness of this — 85,000 people (not gonna be that many) my mother top of the heap, scared to death for us . . . of what? That the earth is gonna open up and swallow us? I don’t know. How many people went to see the Pope? Did anyone die? It’s a rock show for godsake! Rock ‘n Roll, baby! Old style. The love and joy in that field is going to be something to behold, something to be apart of. The most amazing thing I’ve ever had the opportunity to partake of in my life so far . . . and my mother wants me to stay home.

When I think about that last concert, the one with Foreigner, the drunkeness that started Friday afternoon and didn’t end until Sunday night. The recklessness. The chance encounters. Let alone the camping for chrissake, 28 year old woman alone in her tent, passing for 22, surrounded by morons . . . I was living in dangerous times and didn’t even know it, didn’t even care. At least this time there’ll be none of that reckless foolishness, no arguing, no drinking even . . . it’s all about enjoying the show, remembering the show, not the fights at the beer tent or the cute boys from Halifax or any of that crazy stuff that clouded the last concert. I can’t even remember all the acts from that weekend, bailed after Skynard did two or three songs. I do remember Foreigner though. Fun stuff.

Haven’t really been to that many big concerts. John Mellencamp at Maple Leaf Gardens. I’ve been more of a club girl than arena. But one of the things I wrote on my list a couple of years ago, when I decided I was going to start living differently, focusing on me and doing the things I want, was concerts. I almost went to the Sars concert in Toronto, big regret that I didn’t. No more regrets. If the earth swallows us whole, Mom, well, so be it.

Mood: nostalgic
Drinking: a little cheap Chilean red
Listening To: Our Lady Peace, Innocent
Hair: tickling my shoulders

A Dollar Short

It’s almost 5 pm and I’m done, can’t work anymore today, yesterday, I don’t think. The new email worked, some tweaking, but not bad. Positive feedback immediately from some readers/ contributors. Will be better when the new site is ready too.

Cooking a few chicken wings now, gonna have some salad, a glass of wine (which will probably knock me on my ass). First foodstuff since peanut butter fix in the wee hours. Probably left it too late, not hungry anymore, but I forgot, got into the zone and couldn’t get out, emails flying back and forth from home base. Problems to be dealt with. Fixed up now for the most part.

Damn hyper throughout most of the afternoon, that coffee must be good. Yawns starting to come on now, but mustn’t lie down before appropriate bed-like time or I’ll be up all night again.

Lots of rain today and the air is bad, can feel it in my fingers, wrists, neck. Looks like a pleasant forecast for the weekend though, for the concert. Yay! Air traffic being routed overhead today. Planes are huge, flying low to land in Moncton, shooting right over my roof.

Mood: pretty decent
Drinking: water for hydration
Listening To: Kid Rock, Forever
Hair: completely undone

Blog Day 2005

In honour of Blog Day 2005 I’m supposed to recommend five new Blogs different from my culture, point of view, attitude, etc. I’m not a hundred per cent certain that all of these qualify, but since I do read them and they don’t belong to the usual suspects who hang around this place, here goes:

William Gibson’s Blog it’s sporadic, but hey, he’s writing, we know how that gets.

My Boring Ass Life, Kevin Smith’s Online Diary — I enjoy Kevin Smith, not everyone does I know, but I get a kick out him, out of his movies.

Back-to-Iraq 3.0 — I’ve been reading Christopher’s blog for years, before he was getting any legitimate freelance work, when it was totally independent journalism.

An Ontarian in Newfoundland — I surfed into this one day not long ago, quite by accident, and now I find myself checking everyday. I feel like we share something in common maybe, having recently relocated myself, though not as far, or maybe it’s just interesting to see this new perspective, I dunno.

Scribbling Woman — She’s out of Saint John, got some press awhile back and I’ve been reading her ever since.

Mood: is it almost bedtime?
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: crows
Hair: going frizzy in the dampnesss

Hell on Earth

Is everyone on crack? Or is it just me? I don’t mean that I’m on crack, obviously. I mean is there something wrong with me or is everyone else on crack? Some of these things . . . I really should know by now . . . awww shit, just when I was all set to ream on some people I get a lovely email thanking me for being me . . . God help me, I think this might be the one that kills me.

Mood: bleary-eyed, must be time for another pot of coffee
Drinking: the final remnants of the ginger beer, blech
Listening To: Bif Naked, I Love Myself Today
Hair: do i have hair?

An Unscheduled Break

Ohhh, this just gets better and better. This happened the other night too and I went to bed in the frustration of it all.

Every friggin’ morning at 4:30 my Internet connection disappears. I mean disappears completely. I get booted off and can’t get back on. Aliant obviously takes this time to do work on the system or something . . . obviously, right? I mean why else would this continue to happen? Surely it is not the hand of God come to drive me even further up the wall than I am already. Surely I am an insignificant speck of dust undeserving of this kind of messing around. Surely.

Well dammit! I’m not going to bed this time. I’m waiting it out. Yes, this Jamaican Ginger Beer is THAT good. I am energised, charged, ready to proceed . . . and pissed off to the max. Of course I need an Internet connection to proceed . . . can’t publish the thing unless I’m online, can’t email the appropriate parties, can’t do anything only write crazy blogs to post later.

Mood: pissed
Drinking: the jamaican ginger beer still
Listening To: the hum of the computer and little else
Hair: half up, half down

Another Break

My body hates me. Arthritis flaring in fingers, wrists, ankles, knees, neck and let us not forget the spine. Nothing like some good aching in the vertebrae to propel you forward in your work.

Have I mentioned how much I loathe Internet Explorer? No. Well I do. I hate it big style. But I can’t do the bnm website in Firefox because the software is incompatible. And using Explorer is a nightmare. The program keeps timing out, changes aren’t taking, I continually have to log out and log back in . . . it’s driving me a little nuts. Tasks that should only take five minutes are taking 20. My patience is wearing thin. These things will get better (I think, I hope) when the design switches . . . soon. But for now, I go crazy.

Still . . . I go, I continue. Time to stretch and perhaps slip into jammies, but no bed for me just yet.

Mood: headachy
Drinking: Jamaican Ginger Beer
Listening To: a raccoon in the garbage bin and the train whistling through town
Hair: coming undone

What classic movie diva are you?

Liz Taylor
Your inner classic movie diva is:

Elizabeth
Taylor

“La Liz” is best known for her long
career, striking beauty, and many husbands.
Whether playing the role of an innocent teen
(National Velvet), a prostitute (Butterfield
8), or Queen Cleopatra, Liz has always been
adaptable and in command of the situation.

Yet, like all of us, she has her foibles too, which
make her one of the most admired and human of
the great classic movie divas — and,
incidentally, one of the last living greats of
the Golden Era.

“I’ve been through it all, baby, I’m mother
courage.”
— Liz Taylor

What classic movie diva are you?
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