Ole, ole ole ole

So. Went to see some rock music tonight. You know how I do.

The first band... What can I say? That reinforce every gut reaction I have about opening bands. It's like in a kung fu film, when you kill some kid's father, and he wants revenge. But you're a master, so you gotta be like, "No. Go and train for ten years, then come see me again." It wasn't that they were bad, really (except of course for the parts where they were, in fact, bad), it's just that they needed practice. At times they seemed unsure of themselves. And if you want to be a rockstar, gosh darn it, you have to OWN it. But, bless them, they tried. And isn't that enough? The answer of course is no, it isn't, but I'll give them points nonetheless.

Headlining were some Irish dudes I didn't know, and I was only there to see them cause I'd scored free tickets. The Coronas was their name, and I walked in expecting nothing. I quickly realized that they indeed had something. My first clue was the first song, which it seemed I'd heard before. Still, I took my time and played it safe, hoarding my best dance moves carefully. I let them do a few more while I figured out what they were about. As it turns out they are about rockin' Irish music, and I'm real glad I went in spite of it all (that being going solo, and a six mile roundtrip walk in the rain cause I didn't feel like biking). I toyed with the possibility of starting the dancing as the floor was wide open, but elected not to so as to save myself from embarassment. I kind of regret that decision as I missed my shot to show my conviction, though I more than made up for it later. Four girls that had a table up front jumped up for some song they knew, and I'd thought they'd snatched my thunder... But lo, they and the rest of the crowd that jumped up only danced for the one before becoming timid again. The time was mine. And I had a target. I saw that the not-lead-singer guitarist was quietly working his butt off, to the point that he was soaked with sweat, and I felt that deserved a bit of recognition. So. I sauntered over and stood right in front of him (he didn't see me). I took one foot, and brazenly put it up on the stage (he didn't see me). He played his little heart out, and I let loose. I worried that I was in over my head, but there was no turning back at this point. I am committed. I have to see this through to the bitter end. Nevermind how self-conscious I feel... as if I naked and on display, dancing with myself. Miraculously, somehow it all worked out in the end. Didn't go so far as dancing with any of the pretty girls there, but I did warrant a mention by the lead singer, and got a compliment on my moves talking to him after the show. I'll call that a win.

Other highlights:
~Seeing a guy on a bike huffing and puffing up a hill (one I know well, mind you), randomly yelling encouragement at him out of the night, his sense of semi-recognition that I was probably a cyclist on foot and not a jerk or weirdo, and his definite recognition as he passed and I could see the problem was he rode a fixie and said something to that effect.
~The first post ever entirely from a phone (sorry if there are typos and junk, I can hardly see what I'm doing), and still getting in music references even though I am without a computer.