2002-08-11 3:14 a.m.
This evening I took Andie to see Weezer as sort of an early birthday present. I had searched around on the internet and found us fifth row seats—at quite a premium, too. Sure, it was expensive, but I think it was totally worth it. There is no point in seeing a show unless you are close enough to actually see and throw things at the band.
Dashboard Confessionals opened up and they were astonishingly average. Their vanilla–flavored music was simply pop rock, nothing more. This band has enjoyed some massive popularity recently, and I think I have figured out their fan base. If you are white and American and young and average, then you like Dashboard Confessionals because you think that they are emo and you are also emo. And, of course, nobody understands you because you are emo, except for maybe the Dashboard Confessionals. Have these "emo" people even heard of Sensefield?
After average vanilla band finished, Andie and I walked around and tried to give out free buttons to people who looked cool and nice and fun. The problem with this was that nobody looked cool or nice or fun. Nobody was smiling. People looked so closed off, so buried beneath onion–skin layers of mask after mask. This was TV–fed America at its finest. The younger guys hid their insecurities behind gaudy silver necklaces; the older guys behind beers. The girls hid behind each other, or a nearby guy. These people definitely were not ready to take part in our button shenanigans. For example, we offered buttons to three Weezer–fan–looking guys, and after digging through my bag of buttons, they concluded that the buttons were not funny at all and shuffled nervously away. Uh, hello?
WARNING: If you are an idiot, the following button slogans are not funny:
• fuck your mom
• kill the poor
• I love urine
• I love penis
• I love anus
• not now, I'm bleeding
• cum guzzling whore
• USA loves ass rape (this patriotic button is red white and blue)
• semen gargling slut
• let's pump kin
It was strange to realize that the only people I felt I related to at the concert were Andie and the guys on stage. Oh, and there was this girl who had a severed Barbie doll head necklace who loved our buttons. I used to have a necklace like this, but hers was an original 1958 Barbie doll head—with intact eyelashes and everything. She and her friend got really excited about my offensive buttons and just had to have at least one of each. She donated $5 to my button fund, even though I told her the buttons were gifts. What a breath of fresh air she was.
Speaking of air...There was something special about their air at the concert. Not only was it warm and comforting and everything August, but it somehow smelled like kissing Charity Whittamore—the almost imperceptible scent of her breath. She and I would make out in her parent's living room late at night and we talked on the phone and wrote pre–internet love letters, if anyone can imagine such a thing anymore. That was ten years ago—it feels like a lifetime away.
Weezer was a perfect picture of tongue–in–cheek rock excess, a la Nerf Herder meets Kiss. Anthemic and huge, sarcastic and cute. Ah, another wonderful night with Andie.
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