So the concert was made of total fucking win. Seriously. There were like two hundred people MAYBE in the room, and
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sparkfrost and I were standing like eight feet from the MINUTE stage. I have slept in larger beds than that stage, I'm pretty sure. It is possible that the bed in the hotel was larger than that stage.
The concert was amazing and awesome and I'm buying the DVD (it's for charity!) the day it comes out because honestly I don't remember that much of the details I'd like to, like all of Gerard's talking to the crowd and shit, and I REALLY want to see if they put the bit in where someone started to throw down with Worm and Worm was clearly about to eat him alive. I had to move, as it seemed the odds of getting hit with a stray detached arm was high.
On the other hand, I hope, rather badly, that they edit out the part where I punched the chick who crowd-surfed me and kicked me in the head, knocking my glasses and my goggles off. I don't mind having my personal space so invaded that I am
only jumping up and down because everyone else around me is, but I do mind having my shit fucked up, and I also mind being used as a backstop for the mosh pit, which is why I started throwing elbows.
Frank is not 5'4". Sorry, bandom, but I think he's like 5'6". They all look like hippies now, with their goddamn long hair, except for Gerard, who pretty much looks like Christina Ricci with short hair. Seriously, Bob's hair is so long it's in his face, and Frank's hair is just hot, and Mikey (thank GOD) got over the dye job and has normal-coloured hair (I do not like his Black Parade look, I do not like it, Sam I Am) and Ray is just so awesome that it's hard to imagine someone more awesome.
I have no idea what they played or in what order, but I know that there was Welcome To The Black Parade, Mama, The Sharpest Lives, Give 'Em Hell Kid, a bunch of others, and something new that Gerard would not tell us the name of because we would bitch about it when they change the title in a year. But still! New!
The part that I did not like about this concert was the part where I was forced to avoid killing the security guard for something that turned out to be Not His Fault. See, there was a list of attendees, because this was for charity and etc or some damn thing, but in ANY event, ordinary mortals going to this show had their names on a list and got numbered wrist bands, presumably in the order of appearance at the venue. So you had to show your id to the security guard to get your wrist band.
sparkfrost and I decided to get ours before going to eat, as - well, why not?
Thank god for time zones is what I have to say about that. My name was not on the list. I immediately blew a gasket and started calling people, starting with my boss, who had to break into my computer and retrieve an email, then the woman at Riot Squad who'd arranged this, and then things were out of my hands, because she called the tour manager. When she called back, it turned out there were two lists, one of which hadn't been transmitted yet, but we were on that one, and then my phone, which is make of fucking FAIL, cut out and stayed cut out. I called back on
sparkfrost's phone, and I'm going to send an email today that basically says "HI I'M NOT A DICK."
But the relevant point was that we could eat dinner, secure in the knowledge that if her information was incorrect I would, personally, skewer everyone I could find with pointy sticks of wrath.
And then we went back and we got wristbands that did not have numbers on them! Instead, they said "Band guest" and we were able to go inside and there was Gerard looking painfully earnest on a computer during sound check, and that was all I could see because I did not actually wish to be like the group of women who were watching them soundcheck under the pretext of needing the bathroom. I need to take my wristband off some time. Like next week.
Sometimes it's good to know people. It's even better to be on the right side of the time difference.
It was very awesome to meet
sparkfrost, who is seriously awesome, and who also gave me a ride to DC, and that was where the weirdness started.
So okay, I dress like an absolute twit. My SAD takes colourful forms. But honest to god people, I have never had a second head, and I promise you that where I come from no one would look at me like that. But I got off the DC metro at Union Station, where I was meeting
faithinthejudas (who is also fantastically awesome and has awesome roommates, even if they're all in a state that is about as fucked up as a soup sandwich) and people were staring at me. Like, serious doubletakes and stares.
Which DID make it easy to tell him that he could find me - I was the one stopping traffic. And the guy who was giving me directions to get from point A to point B because DC is made of fucking traffic fail started laughing.
And then my phone decided to shit itself, but we eventually connected and started out of town and had a marvellous evening (I probably made too much fun of a movie that we watched, but that's how I roll, honestly, and I did LIKE the movie, I just thought it had some majorly mockable points). And I found out that I will never stay at a Ramada again, but I love Best Western with the power of a thousand burning suns, EVEN IF the desk registrar clearly assumed that a) I was probably crazy and b) that my "grampaw must've struck GOLD in Alaska!" for me to be able to afford a vacation like this one.
Okay, NO, dude. No, nein, nyet, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I may work for a company that has, in my opinion, an overinflated pay scale, I may work for a company that has problems syncing its divisional and corporate calendars so that I got a cheque for five months of back pay for my raise this month, I may work for a company that manufactures satanic dolls for all you know, I may make more money now than my parents made at the peak of their respective careers, but that does not make my vacation somehow ludicrous. I did not wind up in Virginia from New Jersey because I was "lost", and in any event, if I required assistance it would be MY JOB to ask for it.
All of which will teach me not to be nice and assume that when people ask questions they have some interest in the truth. I probably should have said "I'm in Virginia to practise ritual sacrifice, collect fifteen hillbilly heads, and have a lesbian orgy in the state capitol," and then I could have gone to sleep while he called the police. Which, fine, whatever, not my problem. Not until the SWAT team hits the scene.
Anyway, I feel sure that I will have more to say about this trip, but I am going HOME to go to two halloween parties, because my life never stops. Actually, I think I'll have a lot to say on the subject of "Common Assumptions Made By Waitstaff When Two People Dine At The Table, or, He Doesn't Get The Cheque Because He Has A Penis And She Is Not My Dessert-Sharing Girlfriend". And on the subject of "Why A Big Hole In The Ground Does Not Actually Impress Me: My Time in New York".
Also, Newark may be many things, but it is clearly the home of the large-footed woman. I got three pairs of shoes in my size. I only stopped because I didn't want to take my boots off to check out a fourth pair.
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literarytattoos to point out that I am not an English major, and I do not read such high-flying literary works as produced by authors such as Toni Morrison, F. Scott Fitzgerald, or William Faulkner and think "God, I need a tattoo of THAT," nor do I think that I need to demonstrate my logophilia by going absolutely bugfuck nuts with tattoos of really ludicrous things that are going to look like ass in five years.
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