The Most Awkward of Concerts

My social life at the moment consists of two things: playing video games with people online and playing video games with people in person.  So when a co-worker gave me some free tickets to a concert, I jumped at the opportunity to do something that didn't involve sitting down.  Little did I know, free would be too expensive.

But before I went to the concert, I had to find someone, or someones, to go with.  Since all 5 of my friends were out of town, and imaginary friends don't need a ticket, I concluded that the best people to invite would be my siblings.  My sister and bro-law were "busy" with "work"(pffft whatever), but my brother Ross was somehow available. I silently threw a little party in my head.

The only band on the roster that I liked was Neon Trees, the other three I had never heard or heard of, but I'm not usually one to complain about free things. Usually. 

After some froyo with my bro (yo), we headed to Loveland for the concert. Our first reaction was that of confusion. Were we at the right place? "Thunder Mountain Amphitheater?" We're pretty far from the foothills, so where is this "Thunder Mountain?" And what was supposedly an amphitheater was really just a stage in front of a building, and a hill. No part of the title was particularly true, but I didn't want to nitpick.

When we caught a glimpse of the line out of the front, neither of us was shocked by the length; we were shocked that we'd be the tallest two people in the line. Middle schoolers!



The only exaggeration in this picture is the ponytail.



We'd come too far to back down. With tickets in hand, we strode through the gate, pondering what was in store for us within the "amphitheater."  I often forget that stereotypes actually exist in the real world, but was soon reminded when we saw gaggles of girls and boys living the stereotypes.  Ross and I both commented that we never did that stuff, but probably only out of a sense of smug superiority.

Luckily, we both agreed to sit in the back and make fun of everything.  There's that smugness again. The first three acts came and went, and we could never remember the name of the second guy. Yazflute? Iphone? Something along those lines.  As I was only really there for the Neon Trees, we used  the first three acts for quality time together as brothers.



Quality. Time.



Meanwhile, we commented on the tweens and their "drama," as well as their inability to sit still or watch where they were stepping. Seriously, when I was lying down on the grass, someone stepped on my hair. MY HAIR. It's literally 2 inches long. Their foot was like, right there. Seriously. And then there was this one kid that Ross and I just couldn't determine the gender of! The ambiguity! It haunts me still!  *Ahem* Sorry. I guess those kids got to me more than I'd have liked.

At that point, I started to complain about how "free" was too much of a price to pay for those tickets. Man, I'm hilarious, I thought. Through the course of the evening I was hungry, hot, sweaty, blinded by the sun and, if I'm being honest, a bit of a curmudgeon.  As the sun finally set, Neon Trees was about to get on stage.  Ross, in what was simultaneously the smartest and dumbest idea of the night, suggested we move to the front.

It was smart because we actually could see the band. It was dumb because we were heading into the beast's lair. A beast so awkward and adolescent-y. I knew I wouldn't escape without scuffed shoes and bruised toes, not to mention ruptured ear drums (from the shrieking, not the band).

For what seemed like an eternity, we waited.  My spirits fell. I started thinking about the two worst years of my primary education and the horrors I'd repressed, when suddenly the lights went out. A roar came from the crowd. Well, I say "roar," but it was more like a shrill scream. Something you'd expect from harpies. Then the band started playing.

Instantly, I forgot my surroundings. My brother and I joined the jumping and screaming. Finally, it was like a real concert.  We lost ourselves in the songs, though were periodically brought back to reality because the stupid tweens just could not sit still. On many of the call and response crowd participation moments, Ross and I felt like the only people actually participating, but we had a blast. Ross more than me, probably.

We sadly didn't stick around for the encore, but we both agreed we needed to get out of there before the rush of parents came in to pick up their "darlings." In the end, the fun outweighed the awkwardness.  And really, isn't that what it's all about....? Hmmm.... no.