04.20.05
A few open letters to a few deserving souls
Look, I know it’s hard to go to a sold-out show at a small venue like Irving Plaza. I know it’s going to be crowded. I know it’s going to be packed. But a little common decency goes a long way in a difficult situation. With that said, I have a few messages for my fellow concert-goers who attended the Erasure show last night.
Dear Overweight Fairy Man:
You may think that you are a dainty, prancy little fairy, but in reality you are a 250lb ogre. When we are all packed like sardines onto the tiny concert floor, you cannot sway back and forth like you have the entire place to yourself. And the Asian girl who you came to the show with is not your own personal stripper pole that you can swing around. How many times did I have to jab you in your fleshy side with my sharp elbow before you would realize that you were intruding on my personal space? I came to the show with a secret weapon — my own Asian girl — who I continually pushed into you so that you might feel her jabs as well, but you remained in your sweaty, oblivious fantasy world where you flutter from flower to flower sprinkling your fairy dust to welcome Spring to the forest. In reality, I was getting very tired of having your sweaty, hairy arm rubbing up against me.
Dear Arm-in-my-Back Man:
Why did you think that it would be okay for you to turn sideways and use the area between my shoulder blades as a special sling to rest your entire arm? How many times did I have to squirm around and push you back for you to realize that I wasn’t interested in making personal contact with you? How many times did I have to look over my shoulder with pure disgust in my eyes before you would realize that you were invading my space? I finally had to take my above-mentioned friend and place her behind me where she couldn’t see anything so that she could act as a buffer between my back and your wandering arm. I believe she elbowed you when you tried to do the same thing to her. I had hoped the concert would be a touching experience, but you were *certainly* not what I had in mind.
Dear Spilly McSlippyfingers:
I know it was hot in there. And I know that nothing is as refreshing as the watered-down taste of a quality can of Bud Light. However, when you order a drink, you should be more careful not to drop it on the floor. As much as I enjoyed constantly getting to kick your crushed beer can around and nearly tripping on it multiple times, and after your little accident finally dried, as exciting as it was for my feet to stick to the floor so that I had no hope of moving, had you not dropped your drink I think that my experience might have been improved just a *tiny* bit.
Dear Jolly Green Giant:
Why do you think that it’s okay for you to wander into a crowd of tiny Asian girls and stand in front of them? I moved into the area with my friend because she had no hope of seeing over most of the people in the audience, and just before the show started you decided to meander right in front of her. Just because God blessed you with growth hormones doesn’t mean you can be completely oblivious to your height. The fact that people were jumping up and down behind you so that they could see every other second of the show should have clued you in. Hell, you were so tall that you could have probably stood in the back and seen more than anybody else? I don’t know — maybe your head was in the clouds — but have some decency, Colossus.
Oh, and to the whole lot of you: Thanks for almost suffocating me. I’m so happy I had to move further back towards the exit in order to be able to breathe.
I’m sure I have more to say to more of my friends — Loud-Talking-During-Quiet-Times Girl, Mr. and Mrs. We-Deserve-to-Push-to-the-Front, and Lord Pizza-Beer-Burp — but I’m choosing to regulate my blood pressure by not continuing.
My review of the show itself is soon to come.
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