My concert-going retrospective has inspired me summarize the following:
DAVE'S TOP-TEN DOUCHE-IEST PERSONALITY TYPES AT A CONCERT:
- "I am the Texting Queen! I can do anyth-e-e-e-ng!" At the last show I attended I actually saw a chick texting one-handedly, whilst and and at the same time, fist-pumping the air as if she was trying to convince herself and everyone around her that she was "living in the now". I'm sorry, but there's no way you can be properly invested in a live show while thumb-wrestling with a Blackberry. Unplug yourself for a few hours, for f#@$ sake! Why are you even there? How can this truly be a band you like if you're writing the equivalent of email at this show? You might as well be at work fer Chrissakes!
- Mr. Plow This meathead often barrels straight through the crowd like Juggernaut through the X-Men. His only mindless goal: the stage. He doesn't give a crap if he leaves flip-flop marks on your back, he's a man on a mission, dammit!
- Lost Sheep How often have you been at a show and you get a Mr. Plow type shove from behind but ignore it because you're oh, I dunno, ACTUALLY TRYING TO WATCH THE F#@$%^& SHOW? But it persists so eventually you turn around and it's some Smurfette who bats her eyes at you and says forlornly: "Oh, excuse me, can I get through? I'm just trying to get back to my friends!" Yeah, you know what, honey? No, no you can't. The law of the concert jungle is: if you wanna see the band close up, you get your ass there early. If you want to continue to see the band close up, don't drink six liters of draft, fill your squash-ball sized bladder to capacity, leave the front of the stage, do your bidness and then expect to get right back to where you were. It ain't gonna happen. Get a f#@$%^& catheter and colostomy bag installed like the rest of us or get to the back of the line, you twit.
- Chemical Zombies These human wastes of space are often mercifully encountered singly since their equally wasted brethren have all forgotten where the others were last standing. Often they spend the entire show staring at the stage, involuntarily weaving back and forth, mouth agape, eyes looking like two piss-holes in the snow. Quite often they're also shirtless and have lost all conception of personal space, so it's not unusual for one or more of them to stick on to you despite the fact that there are plenty of other places nearby where their clammy, greasy bodies don't have to be affixed to you. They're a tremendous distraction since they always seem only moments away from a technicolor yawn. Well, at least their quiet. Having said that I always want to grab one of them, spin them around and scream: "Congratulations! You just spent a eighty bucks for the most regret-filled hangover you'll ever have in your life!"
- We Are Not Amused. These clowns are like Roman Emperors who go to concerts with giant chips on their shoulders daring the band to knock it off. They don't clap, hoot, pogo, whistle, sing lyrics, or remove their hands from their pockets. In fact, they barely breathe. Unless the band puts a spotlight on them, comes down into the crowd and offers up an encore of fellatio these f#@$%^& are more stoic than a Wooden Indian in a cigar shop. Again I ask, why are you even there? Did you inherit the ticket from someone who couldn't go? Did your significant other drag you along? What the f#$% is your story? ANSWER ME!!!
- "They Call Me The Space Cowboy..." I can't count how many times I've had a contact high from "Cheech and Chong" types that smoke weed around me. I always wonder why so much of it gets through security but then again the food vendors probably consider it to be a catalyst for big business. I personally stay whip-straight for concerts, to try and preserve my already feeble memory and stay frosty in case of an emergency, but I don't bregrudge someone partaking in a little doobage at a show. But c'mon people! At the Rolling Stones concert I went to, a couple of aging hippies in front of us smoked about six kilos of Wheelchair Weed right in front of us the whole time. We had to back up a few feet because my buddy Dean's head was starting to look like a bag of Tostitos. What I really get a kick out of are the young twits in front of me that smoke up without eating or drinking anything, suddenly "feel sick" and run out of the crowd holding their mouths. Morons. Well, actually that's not such a bad thing since they're now out of my way and I'm a few steps closer to the stage! Woo-hoo!
- The Documentarian I always get a chuckle out of tech heads that do nothing but videotape the entire show, usually with some crappy camera or cell phone. Instead of actually enjoying themselves they spend the entire time with their electronic device of choice held aloft, developing a major arm cramp and blocking the view of people who actually want to see the band and have fun. Are these people genuine fans who want to freeze the moment in time forever, smuggle it back home like illegal tranny midget llama porn and will eventually enjoy themselves in due time when they're back in the comfort of their own homes, away from all these...people. Back home where they can watch all the grainy, distant footage that's shakier than out-takes from "Cloverfield"? Back home where they can dress up naked in their "Snuggies" and watch all the excitement on their computer monitors and share their movies on "Facebook" with their horde of six equally socially retarded friends. Tell you what, why don't you just save yourself some bucks and pick up a concert DVD? I know it'll look better and really, you weren't actually gonna be there anyway.
- This is a G.G. Allin concert, right? These lunatic don't really care much that there's a band on stage. They're just looking for a disguiseable way to cause as much destruction, pain and anarchy as possible. Nana Mouskouri could be on stage and they'd still be slam dancing, moshing and crowd surfing like orangutans infected with the "Rage" virus. They are also prone to fits of unprovoked fisticuffs. Any of the following stimuli will often result in a thrown punch: (1) bumping into them unexpectedly (2) mistakenly trodding on their "kicks" (3) asking them if they have the time. Listen to me now and believe me later: give these chowder heads a wide berth!
- El Gigante I really can't fault these people for being freakishly tall. After all, these Sasquatchian mutants really shouldn't be a target for hatred just because they wanna be close to the action as well. But can't they maybe, I dunno, kneel down or something? They aren't the worst offenders anyway. I really hate the no-neck mountainoids that put their girlfriends up on their shoulders creating a spectacular view of her ass versus the band that I just paid sixty buck to see! Inconsiderate pricks!
- The Assholes That Actually Do Scream "Play 'Freebird!'" They actually exist. 'Nuff said.