Adventures Of Cranky McGram-Gram
Some friends took us to see a show at the Bowery Ballroom last night. We got there early and hung out in the hip, red-lit basement bar, knocking back Jack and Gingers and signing a petition for Oxfam. When they opened the doors about 9:00 we went upstairs and staked out some prime real estate front and center, just a few yards from the stage. The first opening band was pretty tight, even if their music wasn't totally interesting, then after about twenty minutes of setup the second opening band went on and they were better and rocked well. I was bopping and swaying along noncommittally, surveying the scene, trying not to be too judgey, and thinking wistfully about my time as a city dweller, how I could have made it different or better, what I miss about it and why I left. By the time 11:00 rolled around and roadies were setting up for the headliner, I was sitting on the floor thinking, this has been nice, but it's crowded, my back hurts and I'm ready to go home. Even the good-smelling, funny gay man who helped us stake out our territory when people started trying to push closer to the front couldn't lighten my mood. About three songs in I was angrily elbowing the chick next to me who just wanted to sing along and dance around, but she wanted to do it in my area, and I had to pee, and it was too hot, and I realized that I am old and there is a reason I stopped going to see bands in the city.