Shades of Grey...
Tuesday, March 10, 2009 7:36 AM
Please, fade away.
And, oh.
What if I stay,
in vain?
Stood in line, waited.
Worried.
440 people inside, only 60 places left.
Would we get lucky?
Thank God.
If we had gotten in five minutes later,
we wouldn't have made it.
Unfortunately, the singer was sick,
had the Rockstar Influenza. (That's my little name for it.)
It was hot,
sweaty,
crowded,
smokey,
blond.
Mmhm.
Way too many blondes.
I suppose it only called more attention to me and my friends in the audience.
The ones with out the cloned haircuts.
The ones who didn't dress like everyone else.
And the ones who probably had more fun then the rest of them.
"Could you sign this?"
He signed it with a loose wrist, not even looking at me.
I smiled anyway and thanked him.
Without raising his eyes he nodded.
Asshole.
I thought your outfit was tacky anyway.
But thank goodness,
the other bands were so much nicer.
Signing whatever I wanted,
smiling the whole time,
hugging me,
making jokes,
the bug everyone on tour seems to be catching,
talking about the area,
comments on the strange weather,
the heat in the club,
the amazing turn out.
I pointed at his bracelet.
"What would Joyce do?"
I paused, "That's my name."
He straightned up and handed my ticket back.
"What would Jon do?"
(My thoughts went to the other Jon immediately.)
"What would Jacob do?"
I laughed and kept the conversation going.
"What would Jingle-himer-smith do?"
He actually laughed.
And it didn't just sound like a laugh out of poilteness.
Photos were taken.
CDs, Arms, Tickets and Shirts were signed.
First impressions last,
and I know which band I'm going to see again.
Oh, did I mention?
I too, caught the sickness.
From that nice man in the middle.
The one who had the, neon WWJD? bracelet.
And, oh.
What if I stay,
in vain?
Stood in line, waited.
Worried.
440 people inside, only 60 places left.
Would we get lucky?
Thank God.
If we had gotten in five minutes later,
we wouldn't have made it.
Unfortunately, the singer was sick,
had the Rockstar Influenza. (That's my little name for it.)
It was hot,
sweaty,
crowded,
smokey,
blond.
Mmhm.
Way too many blondes.
I suppose it only called more attention to me and my friends in the audience.
The ones with out the cloned haircuts.
The ones who didn't dress like everyone else.
And the ones who probably had more fun then the rest of them.
"Could you sign this?"
He signed it with a loose wrist, not even looking at me.
I smiled anyway and thanked him.
Without raising his eyes he nodded.
Asshole.
I thought your outfit was tacky anyway.
But thank goodness,
the other bands were so much nicer.
Signing whatever I wanted,
smiling the whole time,
hugging me,
making jokes,
the bug everyone on tour seems to be catching,
talking about the area,
comments on the strange weather,
the heat in the club,
the amazing turn out.
I pointed at his bracelet.
"What would Joyce do?"
I paused, "That's my name."
He straightned up and handed my ticket back.
"What would Jon do?"
(My thoughts went to the other Jon immediately.)
"What would Jacob do?"
I laughed and kept the conversation going.
"What would Jingle-himer-smith do?"
He actually laughed.
And it didn't just sound like a laugh out of poilteness.
Photos were taken.
CDs, Arms, Tickets and Shirts were signed.
First impressions last,
and I know which band I'm going to see again.
Oh, did I mention?
I too, caught the sickness.
From that nice man in the middle.
The one who had the, neon WWJD? bracelet.
[E is for:
Elliot Minor - Lucky Star
Now She's Gone
Time After Time]