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theZEBRA Lick Those Stripes! I Be Gallopin' After Ye The Herd Zebra Poo Black Stripes, White Stripes Songs of the Plains
Family Court One would be in less danger From the wiles of a stranger If one's own kin and kith Were more fun to be with. Ogden Nash | Incubus Friday. 3.19.04 10:13 pm I am no longer a rock concert virgin. Incubus came down last Tuesday, and I was part of the sweaty screaming throng at their gig. I very nearly wasn’t though. I’d known about their upcoming arrival weeks and weeks ago. Weeks and weeks where I had the opportunity to buy a ticket. But as we all know, plans made in advance never ever work out. So I thought it’d be better to wait a bit. I waited. And waited. Till the morning of the 16th (Tuesday) dawned, and I realised that I still had no ticket. By which time I started panicking. Dammit, the one time someone good actually makes it down here, I’m too busy twiddling my thumbs to buy myself a seat/standing space to watch them. Bravo. So I spent the rest of the day hounding ppl I knew for tickets. 21 phone calls and more phone credit than I would care to think about later, a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend confirmed that she had 3 extra tickets to sell. She even gave me a discount of 20 bucks for each. At 6 sharp, I was at the predetermined meeting point waiting smugly for my cheaper-than-almost-everyone-else’s-ticket. At 6.15, my smirk disappeared. At 6.30, I was frantically trying to call the damn friend of a friend (repeat twice). But I couldn’t get through. Then my phone died. I was going to have a heart attack. I had two other friends depending on me for tickets and they had been waiting in line to get in two hours ago. I was contemplating ripping tickets out of some guy’s hands and pulling his pants down so that he wouldn’t be able to pursue me as I made my escape. But then, a kind (more alert) soul informed me that tickets were still being sold at the counter. Phew. Bought ‘em, cursed a horrible gruesome death on the friend (‘of a friend’ ×3), and ran off to deliver ‘em to impatient-friends-still-in-line-and-choking-on-ciggie-smoke. An hour later, we were in and submerged in a mass of die-hard headbangers near the stage. Being vertically-challenged, I couldn’t see anything and breathed in nothing but B.O. and body heat of ppl taller than me (my head was situated at their general armpit level). I couldn’t even move. When the opening bands came on another hour later, I still couldn’t move. No, wait. I was moving. But not of my own accord. Everyone was pushing and shoving each other. Something had to give. And it did. Someone fell, and like a stack of dominoes, so did everyone else around him/her. Including me. This wouldn’t have been so bad...if it weren’t for the sweat-drenched, rugby-sized guys on top of me. Oh sure, go ahead and stomp all over me when you get up. No no, I don’t mind. What’s a broken rib or two? Just before Incubus came onstage, I threw in the towel and wriggled my way out to the back. Where I discovered that the air was much sweeter and the view was much better. All that monkeypoo business for nothing. Incubus had better be worth it. And they were. They were brilliant. I could understand why a girl in front was waving a pair of knickers in the air. At the back, getting splattered by sweat drops from the hair of a headbanging fan nearby, I finally understood what the draw of a rock concert is. It’s not the insanity of the mosh pit; it’s not the beer being flung around. It’s not even the band…alright, maybe it partly is. But it’s also you and hundreds of others having the time of your lives. It’s letting go and going wild and to hell with anybody who thinks you look like a jackass flinging yourself around like that. But you need good music to get the mood just right. And Incubus delivered. 5 Comments. Hahaha!!! Grin incubus incubus
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