Last night a very surreal experience occurred. Chelsea called me up, asking if there was any possibility that I would be interested in going to a concert, as her father had gotten free box seats. Who can give up free tickets? After calling my boss and telling her of this amazing deal, I was able to get out of work (and bring Kaylee along with me for the crazy ride) to embark on one of the most enigmatic ordeals of my entire life…a Bon Jovi concert.
As difficult as it may for one to fathom, Chelsea and I, the folk praising, Zeppelin worshiping, peer declared hippies attended a Bon Jovi concert. As we three (kaylee was there, too, don’t forget) youngsters wove our way through feathered hair, metallic lipstick, and a potpourri of mullets; the hilarity of the situation strengthened. These people (many of whom came in their BMW’s) were at one time, and not too long ago, our age. There we stood in the essence of their pseudo childhood. Literally laughing aloud, the entirety of the situation was completed as the mannequin-esque lead singer rose to his shroud of screaming middle aged fans; who for these few hours were 18 again, and weren’t afraid to show it. Surprising everyone with a back of the arena start up, there stood Bon Jovi, the master of all the surrealism. As he belted out his first song in an ego-tAstic way, the crowd melted into him. Coming down from his island of praise, he walked through the aisles with the most vainglorious smile. Getting groped by the admiring, awe-struck fans as he rode the wave to center stage, Jon's wave of praise had only begun crashing. Watching him revel in the glory that the crowd of relics generously offered was understatedly hilarious. This kind of “musician” actually exists?! Jon had suddenly became my model of the washed up, full of himself, puppet. Undeniably, though, he works the crowd with perfection.
We noticed that the “side pockets” of the stage were set up for the audience to dance on. Of course, we HAD to get on them. As we journeyed to every single security/usher/roadie, there was no way possible we were getting on them, until…we met the most typical of roadies (he was much like Darryl from Dylan, but was able to retain himself). As we stood there, we began to ask him if he knew any possible way of getting to the stage. After we told him some ridiculous things that he took for sexual implores, he stopped and pondered, but our valiant efforts proved fruitless. Aside from his misinterpretations and “…in a few years, girls. You’re all very cute, just too young…” we thought there may have been some chance of at least snatching his “all access pass.” Whilst heading back to the box, Timothy, an older security guard had given us a hint that we didn’t take seriously enough. Telling us to go opposite of where we were to and get on the floor, the security man there stopped us, and we went back to our own seats. Moments later, Jon was standing in the aisle we had just departed…damn.
He finished up the set with a mix of old and new material, never failing to please the audience, and even touching a certain lady who cried, shook, lost her breath, and near fainted at the mere touch of his hand. The leather clad front man changed costume three times last night, but never ceased to look better than ever; even if that means he still has the fake appearance a la Rod Stewart and Barry Manilow. Screaming along with the all adoring crowd during the only few songs we knew, it was as though this was foreshadowing what we three will be like in 20 years…hopefully spare the feathered hair and metallic lipstick.
As I woke up with after concert eyes, I couldn’t help but laugh again at the realization that soon it will be us who are trekking to concerts in our flashy cars, donned in nostalgic attire…in hopes these years will relinquish a few hours to us.