Saturday morning, 9:59 am
my yin opened her computer, navigated to the website of a monopoly ticket broker, and waited for 10 o'clock to arrive.
September, 1995
i spent much of my adolescence holding an attitude towards hippies that vacillated between discriminatory and persecutory. a band from Vermont bore the brunt of my ire, and in a comical twist of fate, the first (quasi) adult relationship i had was with a woman who adored them. i wasted no time in attempting to dissuade her, with a strategy consisting primarily of prolonged, repetitive exposure to the Ramones. we soon reached a détente, which lasted the entirety of our courtship.
Friday night, time unknown
a (small) portion of my response - "sure, i'll go" - was based on the (false) certainty that no one ever really gets tickets to see this band from Vermont. their fan base is rabid, irrational, unkempt, unshowered, uncouth, incorrigible, insistent, and inexplicably legion. furthermore, their pervasive Luddism holds a perpetual blindspot: the uncanny ability to gobble up hordes of tickets and watch the same band perform night after night after night after night...
Saturday morning, 10:01 am
two floor tickets, first section, fourth row.
No comments:
Post a Comment