Because my friends are The People To Know, I got to go to another free concert last Friday. M.E. put us on the list to see Ben Folds, which was just amazing. Because NKOTB was kick ass, but Ben Folds? Love him. There's nothing like watching a spectacled skinny man smash out the frustrations of his soul with a noisy piano jam.
Some things I don't understand about Ben Folds concert patrons:
1. You are enjoying music. Why are you just sitting there? I'm no fucking dancer, probably because I have to like a song to wanna groove, but sometimes I just can't help breaking out the white girl shimmy, and poorly. But everyone was just sitting there. Unmoving. Maybe tapping their feet a little bit, and then they got this look of embarrassment when they made a little bit of a scene.
Because of this, Gyna and I felt it was necessary to leave the balcony seats full of Sitters and head down to the floor with the Jammers. And you know what? The Jammers still just stood there, nodding their heads, like these Ben Folds thralls who never dissent, who agree, unmoving.
Fucking idiots. Maybe you didn't feel like dancing? You prefered complete immobility? Ben deserves more. Shame on you.
You do not need to be too cool, here. You're watching a dorky guy play the piano, singing about brainwashing and bitches gone nuts. No one's judging.
But they are. And then Gyna made a good point: is this why musicians pass over Chicago, because of the intense public preoccupation with trying to appear cool? I wanna be cool too, but obviously my definition of cool differs completely from theirs.
2. Then again, I'm judgmental as fuck.
I say this: Go ahead and throw your inhibition into a vortex of guilt, but stop making out on the floor. You piss me off.
So now we know that I hate couples.
No, lies: not couples: people who act all coupley. You can be as makey outty as you want, but if you must eat each others brains, do it on the back of the floor, or off to the side. Because you're taller then me, and I came here to watch Ben Folds, not the intermingling of your salivary glands, as fascinating as that is.
Was it just one couple? Ye gods, no. There were hundreds. All over the place. They surrounded me like a Skull initiation and all I could see were these grossly obnocksh, pimply couples licking the sweat from each others faces, jamming hands in unseemly places.
Really? This song is about abortion. Does that make you randy?
They creeped in on me, feeling and licking and grabbing all ugly like, and I can hear their smacking over Ben Folds and I can't see shit, and I can't ignore them because I can feel them, like Dementors. They're creepy.
Sometimes when you see a coupley couple you watch them, their interaction. You see how they find excuses to touch each other, how they steal kisses when they think no one is looking. Their eyes lock and they instantly smile, and laugh because they're together. It's endearing, sometimes. And that's annoying too, but in a jealous rage kind of way.
These people just sucked at life. They have no right to breed, and no right to show off their breeding foreplay on the floor. Get ye away, hosebeasts.
Gyna thought it was funny.
I started getting pissed, and planted my feet on the ground. I did not want to fight during Ben Folds, but in me vs. The Couples, I was fucking determined to win. There were four surrounding me. So I stick out my finger like a gun. "If one of those bastards gets too close," I tell Gyna, "they're getting poked. By my finger glock."
And that's how you show the maker outters you mean biznass.
3. Oh, and seriously? Is Ben Folds the new Dave Matthews? I haven't seen Ben Folds since 1998. Where did all the douchebags come from? They're not even real douchebags, they're like douches in training, or D-List Douches. Douchiness doesn't come naturally enough for them. It's like, they all turned twenty two, realized they were sheep (who smelled like gravel) and decided to emulate the Douchebags, and failed miserably. Their personalities just aren't forceful enough to achieve true douche-osity, so they just settle with semi-douche, and they're unhappy about their failure to attain a full level of douchebaggery.
Who aspires to be a douchebag?