Thursday, September 22, 2005

toto, i don't think we're on the lower east side anymore

I took the day off from work today to recover from injuries inflicted at the M.I.A concert last night. I could deal if it was just the mutually bruised knees and giant hole gouged in my right foot, but the giant lump on my head that woke me up in the middle of the night from throbbing-- not so much.

So Laura and I do sushi at Cafe Asia, then get to the 9:30 Club right when the doors open so that we can get fantastic spots. We wind up smack against the barrier on house left, perfect location. The opening group was... weird. It started off as these two really lame white boys DJs who basically played an iTunes playlist including Donna Summer. Whaaaat? Thank god it got a lot better when they brought on the rapper, African drummer and dancers.

So the opening act finishes and M.I.A. comes on, and she's incredible. BUT, as soon as she starts singing, these two hipsters come barging through the crowd and slam directly into us.

"OMIGOD!" the guy bellowed. "WHY ARE THEY NOT FUCKING DANCING? GRIND UP ON 'EM!" They proceed to shove their pelvises directly into my and Laura's asses, specks of glitter and gin-scented sweat showering us. "KEEP ON GRINDING! THEY'LL MOVE!" the girl screeched.

Here's the thing. I think hipsters are completely stupid, but I will do my damndest to not be rude to them. If you want to fill your veins with heroin and dress like an insane clown caught in a nuclear explosion, be my guest. However, because this pair had chosen to show up late, storm the stage and take our hard-earned spots, I was free to hate them as much as I wanted. I was also free to do something about it.

While Girl Hipster pressed her breasts, now completely unencumbered by her slashed Neighborhoodies "New York Fucking City" dress, up against Laura, I shoved my elbow directly into the blue-sequin clad gut of Boy Hipster. "Hey bitch!" I yelled, "I went to GW! You think I'm not used to queens all up in my grill? TRY HARDER!"

He stared at me blankly, chewing on a wad of gum the size of Utah. "AND GET YOUR UGLY ASS GUM SMACKING MOUTH OUT OF MY FACE, YOU HIPSTER TRASH."

It was great. He just stared for another ten seconds, flipped me off and moaned "Whatever, you... middle-aged... girl!" Amatuer. Posers like that always are.

Boy Hipster started grinding even harder, eventually shoving the poor girl standing next to me to the floor and grabbed onto the barrier railing that I was already holding. Pumping his arms in the air, he slammed his elbow directly on top of my head, then threw them back to smack the base of my neck. The little bitch didn't know who he was dealing with, though, and I. Would. Not. Move. Even if I had wanted to just enjoy the show and let him win before, no WAY would that happen how. This was about more than music. This was about Right and Wrong, Good and Evil.

Look, you are going to get bruised and battered at a concert, especially that close up. But people who show up at the last second and then rush the stage, believing that their ironic T-shirts give them an automatic bearth to the best seats in the house just need to be shot. They're not about the music, or the crowd or the energy of the concert. They're all about their own insecurities, acting superior to all the other fans because they know deep down that they're losers. Wanna know why I showed up to a concert in khakis and a Kenneth Cole handbag? Because I was working. At my JOB. ALL DAY. This "work" concept left me unable to spend all day shooting up and applying seventeen layers of glittery eyeliner, or getting idiotic tattoos of dogbones and cupcakes all over my shins.

If these people were really fans, they would have shown up early. If they really cared about the music, then they'd be chill and not be total douchebags to everyone around them. They'd be like the cool, be-tattoed guys who stood next to us for three hours waiting for the show to start, smoking and staying out of everyone's way, then going crazy when she came onstage.

So I stayed put. Boy Hipster eventually gave up when the African dancers from the opening act came into the audience and wanted to get up front. Dancing with them up at the front, as Boy Hipster seethed through his glitter behind us, was true validation. Right WILL triumph in the end!

Despite the insane hipsters, it was still an awesome show. Go see her if you get the chance. And if you get the chance to elbow a jackass like that in the gut, I highly recommend it. It's incredibly satisfying.

1 comment:

carolbean said...

haha. this is totally why we are friends. there is a guy in ann arbor who i still recognize from being one of those hipster bastards at a wilco concert. i met him once, at a party. he tried to hit on me. i told him, in answer to his lame "don't i know you from somewhere?" line, "yes, you do. i was the girl who wouldn't budge even after you shoved me repeatedly in the small of my back after getting to the concert late, and then claiming you had to save space for your buddies who, wonder of wonders, never showed up. my name is carol, what's yours?" so you rock on, girl. i'll back you up.