Today is not just any other day. Today is a very special day. Today is Friday. Friday, April 27th. And in honour of this very special day, I thought it was imperative that I blog about it and give it the tribute it so rightly deserves.
Today is Jazz Hands Day.
Happy Jazz Hands Day, everybody!
Don't forget to jazz up someone's day today. Sometimes, jazz hands make all the difference.
On Friday night, one of my girlhood (read: twentysomething) dreams was finally realised when I attended the much-anticipated John Mayer concert.
Thanks to *W's* Amex card and the "Front of the Line" pre-sale, I was able to score some damn good sets - centre section, floor, 22 rows from the front (well, it was probably more like 32 rows from the front when you include the VIP/press section, but what'cha gonna do?) These are probably the best seats I've ever had for any concert I've ever been to, not including Edenfest in '95 when I spent all day slowly making my way through the crowd up to the front row for the headlining act, The Cure. I lasted about 20 minutes into the show before security had to pull me out due to my being practically drawn and quartered by pressure of the crowd behind me. I digress...
Because of these damn good seats, I decided to bet it all on black and smuggle in my snappy new camera to get some good shots of Mr. Pretty Hair. I spent much time strategically packing my bag so that my camera was cleverly concealed for the inevitable stripsearch at the gate, but to my shock and glee I sailed right through security without even a sideways glance. I was free to go buck wild snapping all the pics my little 2 GB memory card could hold! Except for one small glitch. Stupid. People. In. My. Way. Stupid tall-hand-clapping-bopping-jumping-type-people. Why can't people stand completely stock still and out of my viewfinder's range while I'm trying to take a damn picture? Okay, I jest. Mostly.
The audience alone provided quite a bit of entertainment: there was the plumber's butt girl to my right (thanks for searing my retinas), the "Pat" directly in front of me (I'm still not convinced he was a man, as *W* insisted) and the two thirtysomething girls to my left who screamed, cried and high-fived eachother when they correctly identified each song from the first few chords. It was certainly an interesting mix of people. I was also pleasantly surprised at how many males were in attendance, further fueling my argument with a male friend that straight guys do, in fact, like John Mayer.
The concert itself was good, but I didn't go home and have a naughty dream about John Mayer that night, which is the usual result of most close encounters with my crushes. He was definitely in fine form and the concert showcased both his singing and guitar talents masterfully. The big disappointment was the length of the set, which was pitiful. When you spend a certain amount of money to see a show, you expect to get what you pay for. Well, I only got $40 worth out of my $70 ticket. Maybe if he didn't spend so much time with that dip whose name I shall not mention, he'd have a little more energy to put into his concerts. You know, that gig that pays the bills? In his defence, I can only imagine how tiring it must be to carry on a conversation with a bag of rocks.