Photoblogging, and a Story.

The main hard drive on Liberal Mountain is ailing, and I left my laptop at work, so I missed the long discussion on Eschaton last week about concerts in general and Go-go's concerts in particular. But Richard posted this pic:



Classy.

True story: I was 16 when I saw the Go-go's. A Flock of Seagulls opened for them, and we arrived at least several hours before the show. I got a coveted place, maybe three back from the barrier. Between AFOS and the Go-go's, there was a crowd push--not completely uncommon in those days, but scary nonetheless. This was about 3 years after the Who concert in Cincinnati, and a good seven or eight before mosh pits became de rigeur at every rock show, so it was rather more scary than fun. I'd slammed to Black Flag in a former discotheque, but this was an arena with thousands of people.

I was sixteen. I was 5'2". I weighed maybe 110 pounds. I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I was separated from my friends.

I fell.

I still remember the utter terror of being underneath the crowd, of no one seeing me, of being stepped on.

A hand reached down and pulled me up: a boy I knew from a confirmation retreat the year before. Paul something. "Are you okay?" he asked me, and I murmured my assent before bolting out of the crowd. (My skepticism for fairy-tale romance comes to me honestly: if I were ever saved from a dragon or a tower, I'd be far too embarrassed that I had gotten myself into such a situation to fall in love with my rescuer.)

I saw the Go-go's from far house right, past Charlotte Caffey, and couldn't see Jane Wiedlin at all, though the rumour was she was commando under her miniskirt, and the crowd chant "Jump, Jane, jump!" was clearly audible. That's what this picture reminded me of. (Richard also posted this one.)