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