There's a Rock Star Living in my Pants

Last night I went to the Weezer concert with my husband. (It was a birthday present. I bought the tickets a really long time ago and I kept it a secret - which I cannot believe.  I was very proud that I kept my big mouth shut.  It's rare.)  Weezer was great, but the opening bands (there were two)... not so much.  However, the first group - who was clearly just thrilled to be there- did have passion.  We'll call the keyboardist - Crack Addict Schroeder.  I've never seen someone play the piano with every part of his body (figuratively, obviously) - and he played a mean tambourine as well.  If it had been a cow bell I would've asked for his autograph. Alas...

I've been to 3 other concerts in my life.  They were :

1.  The Jets in 1985ish at the Metro Arena in Billings MT.  If you do not remember The Jets I am sorry for you.  Essentially they were the Polynesian Osmonds, except there was more than one girl and none of them wore purple socks.  At their core though, they were a singin' Mormon family looking to make a buck.  My parents ushered at the Metro Arena along with other people from our church as a fundraiser and it was through this awesome connection that my sister and I actually got to meet the Jets.  (I know.)  We also got to be in the very front of the crowd... right in front of the barrier ...between the audience and the band.  This is great until a coven of screaming tweens begin a relentless march toward said barrier hoping that one of those beautiful Jet boys would pull them on stage and ask them to join the band, or maybe marry them, or both.  Totally reasonable. In, what I realize now was a Concert Rookie mistake, I stretched my ribcage, shoulders,neck (and finally), chin up to make it easier breathe.  The girls around me, who clearly saw me as a threat to their imminent proposals of marriage, (I was pretty hot in my turquiose stirrup pants) and also considered my 75 pound body an acceptable casualty, sucked up the 1/4 inch of space I gave up when I stretched out and I literally couldn't move even one muscle.  You try to breathe all stretched out like that.  Go ahead.  It's no good.  My sister (in a similar predicament) and I ended up getting hauled over the barrier by the security guards because "Jealous Mob Squishes Girls To Death at Polynesian Osmonds Concert" was not a headline they wanted to see in the Billings Gazette.

2.  Debbie Gibson in 1988ish at the California State Fair -  All I have to say about this one is that if you start off as Debbie, you finish up as Debbie.  I'm sorry, but you don't get to decide that if you change your name to "Deborah" then people will forget you sang "Electric Youth" and "Only in My Dreams" and hire you as a dramatic actress.  All things have their price and teenage fame's is this:  when your fans grow up, you get sent to the Goodwill with their Huffy 10 speed and their phone shaped like a pair of lips- (I got one of these for my 14th birthday and I still freakin' love that thing - wherever it is).  Like every other embarassing part of childhood, you and your smelly "Electric Youth" perfume (which I also owned and unfortunately wore) will be grown out of and not welcomed back... with one exception - Marky Mark, who lost the Funky Bunch, found his shirt,  and is now legitimately known as and gets work as  - Mark Walberg.  (Miley Cyrus - you've been warned.)

3.  Barry Manilow, last year with my mom and sister in Portland Oregon - I do own a shirt that says Barry Fanilow, and sometimes I wish that my name was Lola.  Nothing is better than dancing without shame to Barry with those you love.  By the way, Barry can still sing it up people, but I do wonder how he sings so loud without actually moving his mouth.  Not a plastic surgery success story is all I'm saying.

Which brings me back to Weezer 2008 Portland Oregon.  A couple of things I learned last night: Firstly, Don't show up to a concert on time unless you want to watch lame opening acts and sound checks.  

Secondly, I saw way too many women over 30 in pigtails.  All I can say about this is "STOP  IT." It does not make you look young and cool and edgey.  It makes you look... something else.

Thirdly, I like bass players.  They are the coolest.  They have really good rhythm and they look like they could care less about where they are as long as they can take a split stance and pound out a funky riff.

Fourth, I am too old to stand on the floor and jump up and down to "Undone - the Sweater Song".  (I knew this ahead of time actually and so purchased actual seats.  Sad).

One thing I know for sure though, in my next life - Rock Star.  As for this life - Rock Star in my mind, and of course, my pants.