Monday, August 18, 2008

The Adventures of Lightning Legs and Tiny Lung Girl!

Yesterday Diane and I went to the Jack Johnson concert at Red Rocks.

I love Red Rocks, because no matter where you're sitting, or how cold you are, or if the girl next to you spills water on your ass, you will usually see a great show.

Jack did not let down.

But let's start at the beginning. We got to the venue just before 7, when the first of two openers went on. We had to park on the street. Not bad in itself, but we parked at the bottom of this huge, fairly muddy, hill.

Me: Are you sure you can climb up there in your flip-flops?
Diane: Sure (as she sprints up the first few feet).
Me: Well, you are a mountain woman.
Diane: I haven't been anywhere in almost 2 months.
Me: Well, that's much better than my 22 years of not doing anything.

Secret conversation in my head:

But Diane just ran right up the hill. I, on the other hand, tried to keep up, and failed miserably.

Diane: I'm kinda winded.
Me: Yeah, me too.

Secret conversation in my head:
Yep, this is how I'm going to die.

When I started seeing dots and my foot started to cramp, I turned around like I was casually checking out the view. A bunch of people were behind me, so I thought it best to let them pass, lest I fall on top of them (I like to fall by myself). These two guys started chanting "go, go, go!" when they walked ahead of me.

Secret conversation in my head that I would have said out loud if I could catch my breath:
Unless you want to carry me the rest of the way... get outta my face.

So I made it.

But it did not end there.

After a lot of VERY fast walking, we came to the stairs. Those god damn stairs. Why they don't put in escalators is beyond me. Or at least Oxygen tanks every few feet.

So I could see the ticket takers (scanners? They stopped actually ripping and taking them a long time ago); and then the ticket takers/scanners went blurry.

Me: Diane, I am so sorry, but I have to sit down.

Secret conversation in my oxygen deprived head:

So I sat down on the steps behind a kid with really bad asthma from New Orleans... yes, he had a much better excuse than me. (Actually, Mom and I talked, and we are pretty sure that we have what I have dubbed "Tiny Lung Syndrome". Symptom: no lung capacity. We blame: my father... just because. A.J. is immune because: his torso is freakishly long, so he was able to grow abnormally long lungs. That is why I cannot breath... and my excuse for having to pass out on the stairs.)

After a few minutes I finally peeled myself off of the step and we entered Red Rocks. We cut through the first row and went to the t-shirt stand. While Diane stood in the line, I decided I needed some calories before I actually blacked out.

Well, the closest stands that did not have me hiking up the stairs was cash only. All I had was $5. All I could get was nachos with only "cheese" (notice that this is not real cheese... I'm pretty sure it's molten plastic from old playground equipment). I couldn't even get water, as that was three full dollars over my budget.

But I could feel my blood sugar reaching dangerously low levels, so I settled for the stale chips and carcinogenic dip.

When I returned, Diane was still 3 feet behind the t-shirt counter, so I went and found seats.

Yeah, there were NO seats. This place was packed, which I was not expecting so early before Jack went on. So I'm wandering through the rows, dodging one guy who was asking questions about my nachos ("How are those?" and "Bet you'd like a beer with those. *wink*"), holding my neon colored food, when someone said my name.

It was none other than Miss Day 7.

I casually said, "Yeah, I'm looking for a seat for me and my friend".

Secret conversation in my head:

And she must be very intuitive because she allowed us to squeeze in with her and her friends. (I was introduced to one of her friends... as A.J.'s sister... and she has been to The Big House before... and made eggs there. My life in the shadow of my baby brother is nothing if not consistent).

The seats weren't amazing, but it's tough to find a bad seat in that place, so all was good.

The concert was great, and here are a few highlights:

- My favorite part was when Jack inserted a verse from "Just What I Needed" by The Cars into one of his songs. That song is, perhaps, one of my favorite songs of all time. So that blinded me with awesomeness.

- I love how people shout the artist's name... from the 54th row. Like, sure, he wasn't going to come out on stage, but because you yelled "JACK" in my ear, he'll hurry on out. And yeah, he's totally playing one more song because you yelled, "Jack Johnson, play one more song!" Thanks for the help.

- Who goes to a JACK JOHNSON CONCERT and thinks, "Yeah! Let's get wasted!" Apparently, most of the audience.

- People who close their eyes and move around like their in the womb when a song comes on freak me out. Good for them for being all into the music... but I feel like I'm watching them naked in the shower or something... and it makes me feel uncomfortable.

- But I also don't like people who just stand there are don't get into it at all. I participated in the obligatory soft-pop-rock-shuffle: bounce up and down at the knees, bob the head, tap the toes, and mouth along the words. But people who just stand there also make me uncomfortable... I'm very hard to please, I guess.

When the concert was over, we began our hike down. I made Diane promise that we would be doing no off-roading with our feet, but we ended up on a very dark trail. I'm pretty sure that there was poop on that trail and snakes and rabid coyotes... and Diane is SO FREAKING FAST. I mean, I was hauling, and we could have carried A.J. on a gurney between us (meaning we were about 6 feet apart... but that is what I kept picturing: us caring A.J. between us like the queen of sheba/New Zealand on this trail...).

Conversation with Mike when I got home and told him about how fast she is:
Mike: But she's got short little legs.
Me: But they're quick as lightning.
Mike: But you have longer legs.
Me: But I take teeny-tiny steps.
Mike: Oh.

Anyway, I practically rolled my ankle about 30 times, but we finally made it to the car, and then home.

I was thinking throughout the concert that it would be nice to have someone write love songs about you. Jack kept saying, "This song embarrasses my wife, but I think that she also likes it," or "I dedicate this to my wife".

I came home aching and tired around midnight. And hungry, as stale nachos can only hold off hunger for so long. Mike made me a fresh batch of ramen noodles.

And I thought: I may not have love songs, but I have a man who will fix me noodles at 12:30 AM... and that's perfect.

In yo' face Jack's Wife.