2003-07-02
Concert Whores
In the eighties, we were concert whores.
I had this little fantasy that I would write a series of entries about the concerts I've attended, but then I realized you can only squeeze so much juice out of sentences like "Oh My God, he is so totally hot."
So here are some highlights.
One of the first concerts we went to was Eddie Murphy. The Eddie Murphy concert experience confirmed our suspicion that our parents really believed that we were good Catholic school girls. Because parents who mistrust their children usually check out their social activities before approving them. Our parents had blind faith. (Further proven in ninth grade when we had the big party at Kelsey's house while her mom was working the voting booths where some girls from our good Catholic school whose parents were spending loads of money each year on tuition barfed all over the kitchen and crapped in the bathtub and when we told our parents we didn't know how they got in the house and that they brought all the booze with them when they stormed in uninvited, which we didn't drink ANY of, they believed our lying asses.) Anyway, this Eddie Murphy concert was the foulest content ears can hear. When you're 13, nothing is funnier than hearing the F word about four thousand times in an hour.
When we saw Robert Plant, it wasn't because we were Led Zeppelin fans. Oh no. We didn't even know Led Zeppelin existed. The only bands we knew were ones in which the men wore lots and lots of makeup. We went to see Robert Plant because we were into that crappy ass song "Sea of Love" by that crappy ass band The Honeydrippers. What the hell? So we get all decked out in our pastel miniskirts and ankle socks and head on down to see the fricking Honeydrippers. Of course we make my dad drop us off about three blocks from the auditorium to avoid MAJOR adolescent embarrassment. So then what do we do? We draw mad attention to ourselves with much loud giggling and screaming, not to mention those pastel miniskirts. We take our seats among all the black-shirted, ripped-jean wearing headbangers and proceed to shit our pants. We were terrified. Within the first seven minutes of the concert, some dude behind us accidentally hit the dude in front of us with a cigarette butt. The dude in front of us stood up, tore off his shirt - literally TORE it off - and started screaming that the dude behind us was gonna get a piece of him. We stayed for that crappy ass "Sea of Love" song and hightailed it down to the lobby and called my dad to come and pick us up. In front.
The Fixx concert was held at the amphitheatre of an amusement park. Sheri and I really wanted to hear the concert and look at Cy Curnin's sexy moves. Kelsey and Seana wanted to pick up guys. Which they did, successfully. Sheri and I, in a jealous rage, started a long running joke where we would just look at eachother and say, "You didn't even WATCH Cy!" before breaking into fits of laughter. We were dumb asses.
We loved to flirt with bands. We flirted with INXS, thus obtaining Gary Garry's guitar pick. We flirted with the Psychedelic Furs and Talk Talk. The lead singer of Talk Talk winked at me. Lecherous perv. Once I touched Howard Jones, but that wasn't because I flirted with him, it was because I PUSHED MY WAY UP TO THE STAGE AND TRAMPLED ANYONE WHO HAD THE UNMITIGATED GALL TO IMPEDE MY PATH. Dammit.
The Thompson Twins played a triple-header with Berlin and Billy Idol. We dressed like Madonna for that one and traded clove cigarettes for sips of 7 and 7s with the couple sitting next to us. Drinking out of strangers' cups...ah, youth.
Last year I went to see U2. I splurged on good seats. All around me, people were smoking, no one would sit down and the screaming was fricking deafening. During the entire concert, I obsessed about why the security guards weren't doing anything about these blatant violations of the law, not to mention the crossing over of the concert etiquette line!
I am so f'n old.
joeparadox at 10:17 a.m.