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Last night Tabby and I went to see Sarah McLachlan in concert. This fulfilled her lifelong (or at least a significant portion of her life) dream.
Tabby adores Sarah. She dreams about her. Had she the means she would probably stalk her, for instance lack of a full-time job, disposable finances and/or a car that doesn't threaten to poop out after 50 miles. She loves her so much that she stubbornly persists in the belief that she has lesbian leanings, despite an apparently happy marriage and 3-year-old daughter to the contrary. She loves her so much that recently when a local radio station was giving away tickets to an exclusive engagement, just Sarah and 10 lucky fans around her piano, Tabby was sure her life would end if she didn't win. She threw herself on the mercy of the DJs, writing them a letter shamelessly pleading for a ticket. She thought she could appeal to their humanity if she described at great length the many ways Sarah has changed her young life. I tried to remain supportive while pointing out that there were probably 100 other women in the Denver Metro area that could make the same argument. She didn't get to go, but yet somehow lived on.
I like Sarah just fine, I just don't think of her as The Second Coming the way Tabby does. In preparation for what would clearly be mandatory enjoyment of the concert, Tabby tried to force me to listen to her newest CD. When on one listen-through I judged it to be kind of mediocre, she frantically insisted I listen to "each track at LEAST 3 times." She wouldn't rest until I loved Sarah as much as she did. I told her not even Sarah herself loves Sarah as much as Tabby does. I refused her request, partly out of spite but mostly because I had just received from my friend Jeffy a copy of The Killers' "Hot Fuss," which was for me the direct opposite of mediocre. Unlike Sarah's "Afterglow," this CD was total love-at-first-listen. They sound like a cross between every group I loved growing up. Yep, I loves me some Killers. But wait, I guess I'm talking about Sarah, aren't I? The only reason I was going to the concert was, through the charity of an independently wealthy co-worker/benefactor, Tabby was able to get the tickets for us dirt cheap, only about $15 apiece. At that price I would gladly see most groups perform, regardless of how I feel about them (except for probably all the hip-hop. And of course country western. I do have SOME standards).
Tabby had been counting down the days and then the hours excitedly. I had not. In fact, after the hell work week I went through last week I was a little irked to have yet another night taken away from me. Not least of all because the arena was about 80 miles away in sunny Loveland, CO...heh, heh. I'm such a kidder. In reality it snowed like a bitch. *sigh* I'm just too good a friend for my own good. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We packed up for the trip, heavily equipped with Sarah CDs and even bringing along my portable DVD player so Tabby could watch for the 15th time the professionally filmed version of the concert we were about to see. I might have mentioned how much she loves Sarah. I did insist on one concession, my Killers CD slipped in among 5 of Sarah's, on the off-chance that tonight would be the night when Tabby finally O.D.'ed on her. I had no idea how long it would take to get to Loveland, but figured earlier was better than later (if Tabby missed Sarah taking the stage I knew she would never, ever forgive me). I figured with rush hour maybe 2 hours, so we left 2 hours and 45 minutes early. It turned out even with rush hour, stopping for a quick dinner and briefly getting lost, we still got there with an hour to spare. The highlight of rush hour had to be, in my traditional role as Asshole Magnet Extraordinaire, when I tried to get into the carpool lane to make up some time but the guy in front of me would have none of it. He actually slid over so he was half in and out of the lane, leaving me no room to pass. It turned out neither of us should have bothered since the lane ended after about 50 feet anyway, but what the fuck??? Instead he got his wish of having me breathing down his neck for the next 20 miles. I'll never understand why people want to keep drivers behind them who are pissed off at them. If I piss someone off, even accidentally, I can't wait to be rid of them in case they turn out to be insanely vindictive and try to follow me home or something. But I guess that's just me.
Like I said, we arrived at the Budweiser Center a comfortable hour early and joined the rest of the early throng bottlenecking into the front door. We passed through "Security," which I refer to only in the joking sense of the word. I was asked to open my jacket, where I could clearly see the bulge (heh, heh) of my binoculars in my inner pocket, but before I could attempt to explain they waved me on with nary a bat of the eye. I suppose in the age of camera phones and camcorders the size of phones, short of strip-searching 5,000 people they realize the idea of security is pretty pointless. Lucky for them I'm an honest, law-abiding citizen. We entered the venue proper and got the important things out of the way first, a.) bathroom, b.) ridiculously overpriced T-shirt for Tabby, and c.) ridiculously overpriced beer for Tabby, which would be her fourth alcoholic beverage of the evening. I rolled my eyes and said (almost) nothing. She's a grown-up now and it's not my place to preach. But shit...how pleasantly buzzed and relaxed does she have to be to enjoy what will be the pinnacle of her young, if not entire, life? I tried to justify my concern as residual trauma from the time we had third-row seats to Melissa Etheridge and, after I jumped up with the rest of the crowd at her entrance, this stupid tart behind me immediately dumped an entire cup of beer all over my chair, forcing me to remain standing despite liking Melissa even less than Sarah (again, I was there in support of Tery. Oh, the things I do for chicks).
We then went to find our seats and I laughed out loud when the usher's innocent instructions to help us find them were, "You need to go almost all the way to the back wall, but not quite." Yep, we were about three rows from the back of the stadium. Which was actually ideal...it made it very tricky for Tabby to rush the stage should she be suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. The distance didn't bother me half so much as the size of the seats...pygmy-sized, made up of about 12 square inches of the hardest, most unforgiving substance created by man. Tabby had no problem, being about 5 foot 4, but at 5 foot 6 and very broad-shouldered, I looked like a linebacker trying to squeeze in there. I feel if we must be a full mile from the stage, the least they could give us would be a little more hip space. I spent much of the pre-show dreading when someone else arrived to sit on the other side of me, as I didn't know how I could possibly make myself any smaller without causing permanent damage.
The opening act were called The Perishers, a peculiar name but one Tery had joked was kind of like The Killers. Sadly, that was where the (kind of) similarity ended. Apart from being from Sweden and having a lead singer who resembled a younger, shaggier Kevin Bacon, their music was boring and monotonous. A real snoozefest. I felt so bad for them, especially when they repeatedly informed us they would be around for CD signing and/or hugs after the show, if anyone wanted either. I always pity the opening band that no one is there to see. They seemed very nice, and I vowed one day when I am stinking rich I will always spend my money on, among other things, opening band CDs at concerts.
When their set finally ended, Tabby was fit to burst with excitement. She could hardly wait for the roadies to finish clearing the stage. I pointed to a female figure apparently directing them and asked if that was Sarah. She almost blinded herself getting the binoculars up at the speed of light before realizing the likelihood that Sarah would have anything to do with setting up equipment. Don't look at me like that. I'm eeeeeeeeeeeeevil. Don't ever forget it. It was of great interest to me when a large girder was majestically lowered from the ceiling with several light canisters attached to it. It slowly went all the way to the ground, where three spotlight operators climbed into seats and were majestically hoisted back up about 50 feet in the air. Hoooo boy. Acrophobia aside, you'd have to have a serious bladder of steel for that job. No pottie breaks halfway through the show for you. I was only fixated on bladder issues because of all the beer Tabby was drinking (at home Tery needs a break about every 12 minutes when she's imbibing), but she assured me she had no intention of leaving her seat.
Sarah took the stage, an event that succeeded in raising my pulse only negligibly. I couldn't understand it...every other show I've gone to I've felt at least token excitement, not being immune to the allure of celebrities. I usually think, "This is it. I'm breathing the same air as Robert/Trent/Sting." But with Sarah, nothing. Which isn't to say Tabby felt the same way. She spent the opening song ("World is on Fire") transfixed like stone in her seat, afraid to even move. During the second song ("Adia") she was bawling like a baby. By the third song (I forget what it was) the novelty had completely worn off for me and I was left again hyperaware that my buttcheeks had gone totally numb. Most unpleasant. Sarah is a real Chatty Cathy during her shows. For the first half every song was preceded with an amusing little story behind it. I am not used to this at all. When Robert Smith talks during Cure concerts, it is very seldom and his accent is so thick and his voice so muffled that I never understand a word anyway. Trent Reznor just lets the music speak for itself, not big on conversation, that one. But back to Sarah...things started moving a little faster when she knocked this off, but the show in its entirety was barely 90 minutes anyway. So she wasn't talking amiably so much as desperately padding.
Tabby had pulled out her lighter earlier just in case, but no one else ever used them, and one would start to feel foolish being the only sap, I imagine. I figured it was because every last one of her songs is a slow love ballad. People would have carpal tunnel by the end of the night. Tery later said it was because lighters were forbidden these days (oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that ultra-thorough security check) and that the new thing is to hold up cell phones instead. Does anyone else besides me think this is utterly soulless? What is romantic about a cell phone screen? Argh.
By the end I was ready to join my ass in a state of somnolence because it was all so mellow. She never even played my favorite song, "Fear." I'm used to concerts with exciting, danceable rock music, with bass and drum beats that throb through you and grab you by the shirt and shake you if you dare try to sit down. I remember leaving the NIN concert drenched in sweat and loving every minute of it. By the time Sarah got around to anything close to this level of animation ("Possession" and later "Sweet Surrender," both well towards the end of the show) I was so stiff and arthritic from sitting in that torture device that I was forced to be content with tapping my toes enthusiastically. But hey, I didn't get beer spilled on me. I consider that progress.
The drive home was harrowing in a full-blown blizzard. It didn't help that we had to pee like two racehorses so this spurred me to dangerous speeds. I passed through at least four different weather conditions before hitting Denver and three fairly major accidents. Tabby was snoring loudly after only 10 miles; two hard ciders, two beers and months of breathless anticipation had finally taken their toll. I took the opportunity to switch the stereo over to The Killers, thank you very much. The night wasn't quite the religious experience for me that it was for Tabby, but it's all good. I've had my chance to worship at the altars of my music gods. I was happy to give her the same chance. She's a little sad that it's over and she has nothing left to live for. Except, I pointed out, when Sarah tours again. Or when she accepts her love for Tabby and comes looking for her, whichever comes first.
I don't know when I'm going to learn that trying to save a little money oftentimes is just not worth it. Again I am dealing with an eBay seller who auctioned off a Special Edition copy of Finding Neverland but sent me a no-frills version instead. After three emails went ignored I broke down and called him today. I was prepared for an argument, especially when according to his auction exchanges are only accepted in the case of defective discs. But no, he said he had the version I wanted and would cheerfully send it off when he received the original DVD back.
I know what you are thinking, and no, I have no idea why he didn't just send me the correct one in the first place. My best guess would be because this is my life and this is how it has to be. Forever.
Tabby adores Sarah. She dreams about her. Had she the means she would probably stalk her, for instance lack of a full-time job, disposable finances and/or a car that doesn't threaten to poop out after 50 miles. She loves her so much that she stubbornly persists in the belief that she has lesbian leanings, despite an apparently happy marriage and 3-year-old daughter to the contrary. She loves her so much that recently when a local radio station was giving away tickets to an exclusive engagement, just Sarah and 10 lucky fans around her piano, Tabby was sure her life would end if she didn't win. She threw herself on the mercy of the DJs, writing them a letter shamelessly pleading for a ticket. She thought she could appeal to their humanity if she described at great length the many ways Sarah has changed her young life. I tried to remain supportive while pointing out that there were probably 100 other women in the Denver Metro area that could make the same argument. She didn't get to go, but yet somehow lived on.
I like Sarah just fine, I just don't think of her as The Second Coming the way Tabby does. In preparation for what would clearly be mandatory enjoyment of the concert, Tabby tried to force me to listen to her newest CD. When on one listen-through I judged it to be kind of mediocre, she frantically insisted I listen to "each track at LEAST 3 times." She wouldn't rest until I loved Sarah as much as she did. I told her not even Sarah herself loves Sarah as much as Tabby does. I refused her request, partly out of spite but mostly because I had just received from my friend Jeffy a copy of The Killers' "Hot Fuss," which was for me the direct opposite of mediocre. Unlike Sarah's "Afterglow," this CD was total love-at-first-listen. They sound like a cross between every group I loved growing up. Yep, I loves me some Killers. But wait, I guess I'm talking about Sarah, aren't I? The only reason I was going to the concert was, through the charity of an independently wealthy co-worker/benefactor, Tabby was able to get the tickets for us dirt cheap, only about $15 apiece. At that price I would gladly see most groups perform, regardless of how I feel about them (except for probably all the hip-hop. And of course country western. I do have SOME standards).
Tabby had been counting down the days and then the hours excitedly. I had not. In fact, after the hell work week I went through last week I was a little irked to have yet another night taken away from me. Not least of all because the arena was about 80 miles away in sunny Loveland, CO...heh, heh. I'm such a kidder. In reality it snowed like a bitch. *sigh* I'm just too good a friend for my own good. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We packed up for the trip, heavily equipped with Sarah CDs and even bringing along my portable DVD player so Tabby could watch for the 15th time the professionally filmed version of the concert we were about to see. I might have mentioned how much she loves Sarah. I did insist on one concession, my Killers CD slipped in among 5 of Sarah's, on the off-chance that tonight would be the night when Tabby finally O.D.'ed on her. I had no idea how long it would take to get to Loveland, but figured earlier was better than later (if Tabby missed Sarah taking the stage I knew she would never, ever forgive me). I figured with rush hour maybe 2 hours, so we left 2 hours and 45 minutes early. It turned out even with rush hour, stopping for a quick dinner and briefly getting lost, we still got there with an hour to spare. The highlight of rush hour had to be, in my traditional role as Asshole Magnet Extraordinaire, when I tried to get into the carpool lane to make up some time but the guy in front of me would have none of it. He actually slid over so he was half in and out of the lane, leaving me no room to pass. It turned out neither of us should have bothered since the lane ended after about 50 feet anyway, but what the fuck??? Instead he got his wish of having me breathing down his neck for the next 20 miles. I'll never understand why people want to keep drivers behind them who are pissed off at them. If I piss someone off, even accidentally, I can't wait to be rid of them in case they turn out to be insanely vindictive and try to follow me home or something. But I guess that's just me.
Like I said, we arrived at the Budweiser Center a comfortable hour early and joined the rest of the early throng bottlenecking into the front door. We passed through "Security," which I refer to only in the joking sense of the word. I was asked to open my jacket, where I could clearly see the bulge (heh, heh) of my binoculars in my inner pocket, but before I could attempt to explain they waved me on with nary a bat of the eye. I suppose in the age of camera phones and camcorders the size of phones, short of strip-searching 5,000 people they realize the idea of security is pretty pointless. Lucky for them I'm an honest, law-abiding citizen. We entered the venue proper and got the important things out of the way first, a.) bathroom, b.) ridiculously overpriced T-shirt for Tabby, and c.) ridiculously overpriced beer for Tabby, which would be her fourth alcoholic beverage of the evening. I rolled my eyes and said (almost) nothing. She's a grown-up now and it's not my place to preach. But shit...how pleasantly buzzed and relaxed does she have to be to enjoy what will be the pinnacle of her young, if not entire, life? I tried to justify my concern as residual trauma from the time we had third-row seats to Melissa Etheridge and, after I jumped up with the rest of the crowd at her entrance, this stupid tart behind me immediately dumped an entire cup of beer all over my chair, forcing me to remain standing despite liking Melissa even less than Sarah (again, I was there in support of Tery. Oh, the things I do for chicks).
We then went to find our seats and I laughed out loud when the usher's innocent instructions to help us find them were, "You need to go almost all the way to the back wall, but not quite." Yep, we were about three rows from the back of the stadium. Which was actually ideal...it made it very tricky for Tabby to rush the stage should she be suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. The distance didn't bother me half so much as the size of the seats...pygmy-sized, made up of about 12 square inches of the hardest, most unforgiving substance created by man. Tabby had no problem, being about 5 foot 4, but at 5 foot 6 and very broad-shouldered, I looked like a linebacker trying to squeeze in there. I feel if we must be a full mile from the stage, the least they could give us would be a little more hip space. I spent much of the pre-show dreading when someone else arrived to sit on the other side of me, as I didn't know how I could possibly make myself any smaller without causing permanent damage.
The opening act were called The Perishers, a peculiar name but one Tery had joked was kind of like The Killers. Sadly, that was where the (kind of) similarity ended. Apart from being from Sweden and having a lead singer who resembled a younger, shaggier Kevin Bacon, their music was boring and monotonous. A real snoozefest. I felt so bad for them, especially when they repeatedly informed us they would be around for CD signing and/or hugs after the show, if anyone wanted either. I always pity the opening band that no one is there to see. They seemed very nice, and I vowed one day when I am stinking rich I will always spend my money on, among other things, opening band CDs at concerts.
When their set finally ended, Tabby was fit to burst with excitement. She could hardly wait for the roadies to finish clearing the stage. I pointed to a female figure apparently directing them and asked if that was Sarah. She almost blinded herself getting the binoculars up at the speed of light before realizing the likelihood that Sarah would have anything to do with setting up equipment. Don't look at me like that. I'm eeeeeeeeeeeeevil. Don't ever forget it. It was of great interest to me when a large girder was majestically lowered from the ceiling with several light canisters attached to it. It slowly went all the way to the ground, where three spotlight operators climbed into seats and were majestically hoisted back up about 50 feet in the air. Hoooo boy. Acrophobia aside, you'd have to have a serious bladder of steel for that job. No pottie breaks halfway through the show for you. I was only fixated on bladder issues because of all the beer Tabby was drinking (at home Tery needs a break about every 12 minutes when she's imbibing), but she assured me she had no intention of leaving her seat.
Sarah took the stage, an event that succeeded in raising my pulse only negligibly. I couldn't understand it...every other show I've gone to I've felt at least token excitement, not being immune to the allure of celebrities. I usually think, "This is it. I'm breathing the same air as Robert/Trent/Sting." But with Sarah, nothing. Which isn't to say Tabby felt the same way. She spent the opening song ("World is on Fire") transfixed like stone in her seat, afraid to even move. During the second song ("Adia") she was bawling like a baby. By the third song (I forget what it was) the novelty had completely worn off for me and I was left again hyperaware that my buttcheeks had gone totally numb. Most unpleasant. Sarah is a real Chatty Cathy during her shows. For the first half every song was preceded with an amusing little story behind it. I am not used to this at all. When Robert Smith talks during Cure concerts, it is very seldom and his accent is so thick and his voice so muffled that I never understand a word anyway. Trent Reznor just lets the music speak for itself, not big on conversation, that one. But back to Sarah...things started moving a little faster when she knocked this off, but the show in its entirety was barely 90 minutes anyway. So she wasn't talking amiably so much as desperately padding.
Tabby had pulled out her lighter earlier just in case, but no one else ever used them, and one would start to feel foolish being the only sap, I imagine. I figured it was because every last one of her songs is a slow love ballad. People would have carpal tunnel by the end of the night. Tery later said it was because lighters were forbidden these days (oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that ultra-thorough security check) and that the new thing is to hold up cell phones instead. Does anyone else besides me think this is utterly soulless? What is romantic about a cell phone screen? Argh.
By the end I was ready to join my ass in a state of somnolence because it was all so mellow. She never even played my favorite song, "Fear." I'm used to concerts with exciting, danceable rock music, with bass and drum beats that throb through you and grab you by the shirt and shake you if you dare try to sit down. I remember leaving the NIN concert drenched in sweat and loving every minute of it. By the time Sarah got around to anything close to this level of animation ("Possession" and later "Sweet Surrender," both well towards the end of the show) I was so stiff and arthritic from sitting in that torture device that I was forced to be content with tapping my toes enthusiastically. But hey, I didn't get beer spilled on me. I consider that progress.
The drive home was harrowing in a full-blown blizzard. It didn't help that we had to pee like two racehorses so this spurred me to dangerous speeds. I passed through at least four different weather conditions before hitting Denver and three fairly major accidents. Tabby was snoring loudly after only 10 miles; two hard ciders, two beers and months of breathless anticipation had finally taken their toll. I took the opportunity to switch the stereo over to The Killers, thank you very much. The night wasn't quite the religious experience for me that it was for Tabby, but it's all good. I've had my chance to worship at the altars of my music gods. I was happy to give her the same chance. She's a little sad that it's over and she has nothing left to live for. Except, I pointed out, when Sarah tours again. Or when she accepts her love for Tabby and comes looking for her, whichever comes first.
======================
I don't know when I'm going to learn that trying to save a little money oftentimes is just not worth it. Again I am dealing with an eBay seller who auctioned off a Special Edition copy of Finding Neverland but sent me a no-frills version instead. After three emails went ignored I broke down and called him today. I was prepared for an argument, especially when according to his auction exchanges are only accepted in the case of defective discs. But no, he said he had the version I wanted and would cheerfully send it off when he received the original DVD back.
I know what you are thinking, and no, I have no idea why he didn't just send me the correct one in the first place. My best guess would be because this is my life and this is how it has to be. Forever.
