Scapegoats and Sacred Cows

It’s Saturday morning and my daughter is standing in the kitchen crying.  It’s one of those sloppy, snotty cries because I won’t give her cookies for breakfast.  It’s 6 am and I didn’t go to bed until 1.  I’m so tempted to give her the damned cookies so she’ll be quiet, but I don’t.

Just seven hours ago, I was at a rock show.  I went with my friend Cassie to see Jane’s Addiction.   We sat in the nose bleed section because we refused to wait in line to get better seats, preferring to wait in a warm bar down the street that had grunge music pouring from the house speakers.

We got into the show, found the beer stand and got comfy.  The opening band was this great two-piece from Brussels.  They were fantastic but I couldn’t wait to see Jane’s Addiction: the reason I left my cozy home at night to attend an event that would certainly give me a headache.

I tried to record every moment without writing it down.  Such is the burden of writers and photographers: savor the moment and stay in it.   Address it as art without taking yourself away from the present.  It’s impossible, so I bought a t-shirt.  Some dude who works at Guitar Center told me a long story in the shirt line, and I did my best to appear enthused.  It seemed like it meant a lot to him.  Then he told me to give an usher forty bucks for a better seat.  I smiled politely and went back to my crappy seat, among the other olds.

Jane’s Addiction alternated between new and old songs.  The line-up was amazing.   I could see the mosh pit from the safety of the balcony.  Perry Farrell slapped hands with crowd surfers as they were ejected from the show by giant bouncers.  His youthful energy was contagious.  The entire show was fantastic.  I would have more to say, but I took minimal  notes in order to stay in the present, blah, blah.

My seat was further away from the action then I would have tolerated fifteen years ago.   But, for a few hours, I let everything slip away to enjoy music.  MY music, not my kids’ favorite or my husband’s favorite.  Mine.  It was worth the headache and relentless fatigue that is certain to dominate my Saturday.   For a few hours, I was just me, rocking out with a friend at an awesome show.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to change a dirty diaper, make some chocolate milk, and brew a pot of coffee.  Never stop rockin’!!